Opening Doors
by Leokitsune
Summary: Sequel to 'Of Kittens and Dogs.' Nagi struggles to discover the meaning of friendship. Schuldig struggles against memories and nightmares. Crawford struggles with opening up to others. Set between the original series and Glühen. Complete.
1. Prologue

**Opening Doors   
  
**By Leokitsune

* * *

A/N: Some things in this story won't make sense to you if you haven't read 'Of Kittens and Dogs' first. Go read it, it's only two short chapters. Go on, we can wait. This story ignores the drama CDs, so I guess it falls into the AU category. But not too much so. I'm too much of a canon slave to wander far. /_insert dialogue here_/ indicates Schu's mojo. Italics are for thoughts, emphasis, and non-English words. I tried to provide translations for all of them, but I might have missed one or two.  
  
Disclaimer: Oh yeah. The boys of Schwarz don't belong to me, but I think that we all know that already. Damn it. They belong to Project Weiß and Koyasu Takehito.  
  
Warning: Some hints of boy-boy love. A good bit of profanity; Schu's pretty mouthy. If either of these offend you, you might not want to read. Thank you.

* * *

**Prologue  
**  
I dote on his very absence.  
**William Shakespeare**  
----  
  
Once they were out the door, Crawford hadn't watched Nagi and Schuldig leave. He sat down and stared at the green coat that Schuldig had forgotten in his haste to leave. It lay across the arm of the couch where Schuldig had left it yesterday. Crawford had found that odd. Schuldig was a careless individual, except when it came to things that belonged to him. He'd had that coat for years. Schuldig had been wearing that same coat, as a matter of fact, the first time they had met.  
  
Throughout the years it had always looked like new, a testament to the care that Schuldig had lavished on it. Now it was forgotten, abandoned. Crawford went over and picked it up. It was dry, but the couch underneath was soaked. He frowned reflexively at the damp spot it had left on the upholstery, then sighed. What did it matter? In another few moments, he was never going to see that couch again. Not questioning why, Crawford carefully folded up the coat and placed it in the bottom of his garment bag.  
  
His watch beeped at him, reminding him that time ran on. Kritiker would be here in about ten minutes. He did a last sweep of the place, ignoring the emptiness he felt inside as he combed over Nagi and Schuldig's rooms, making sure they were clean of anything that Kritiker might be able to use. He noted with approval that Nagi had completely demolished his computer. No one was going to be able to pull anything from that, not even Bombay, good as he was.  
  
He took his bags to his car and drove off, passing by Kritiker's agent on the way out. His timing was impeccable, as always. His vision rarely failed him. So why did Schuldig and Nagi leave? He hadn't foreseen the end of Schwarz. Why go through this mess? His mouth thinned in annoyance. He didn't like to be questioned. So what had changed? Even his vision couldn't tell him that. 


	2. Chapter 1: Home Sweet Home

**Chapter 1: Home Sweet Home**

**

* * *

**  
  
"Okay, here we are. Our new place." Schuldig swung open the door with a flourish. Nagi didn't look impressed. He had seen it already when they had been looking at new apartments. It was the best of the lot, a top floor suite with three bedrooms. Nagi hadn't asked Schuldig why he had been insistent on three bedrooms, and Schuldig hadn't volunteered the information.  
  
The pile of luggage that had overwhelmed Schuldig's car seemed very small in the middle of the shining ocean of hardwood flooring. The apartment complex included maid service, so Nagi wouldn't have to be the one to polish that immaculate expanse. The maid service pleased Nagi. Crawford had always insisted they keep things clean themselves and had even forced Schuldig to contribute his share. Now that Crawford was no longer here, Nagi had worried that he would be the one to do all the cleaning.  
  
Nagi winnowed out his few bags from Schuldig's mountain of luggage and floated them down the hall after him. The only thing he carried in his hands was Jei's new carrying case. Jei was awake, meowing piteously. Nagi absently stroked the kitten with a mental touch. Jei stopped, surprised, then began to purr again. The kitten turned out to be very affectionate once it had gotten used to them. Schuldig had made the decision to bring the cat, but after that had little to do with it. Nagi found himself to be the owner by default.  
  
Nagi had been worried that the kitten would be a nuisance and had found the kitten to be an angel and Schuldig to be the nuisance. For three weeks, they had lived in that frightfully expensive hotel while Nagi had trailed exasperatedly behind Schuldig as the telepath rejected place after place. Schuldig had been at his worst, refusing to state exactly what it was he wanted, so it had been difficult to satisfy him. Nagi had come close to strangling the other man and stuffing him in a dumpster somewhere.  
  
Finally they had found this one. It was perfect. New building, covered parking, all new appliances, and a fireplace—nothing that Schuldig could complain about. Not that he hadn't tried. Nagi finally spoke up. He pointed out here was a place which had everything Schuldig had demanded of the others. Schuldig had dragged them to three more before conceding.  
  
Nagi looked around at the bare room that was to be his. With a flick of his mind, he shunted the bags into a neat row along the wall. Jei was starting to mew again, so he set the carrier down and let the kitten out. The kitten shot out like a furry bullet, only to skid to a stop in the middle of the barren floor. Nothing for him to hide under. Jei looked back at Nagi and mewed his distress.  
  
"Heh. No place for you to hide, is there, _katzchen_?" Schuldig said from the doorway. The kitten mewed again, eyes wide and tail bushed out like a bottlebrush.  
  
"Leave Jei alone," Nagi admonished Schuldig. Schuldig ignored him as he watched the kitten slink along the baseboards. Nagi couldn't tell what the telepath was thinking. Schuldig was always hard to read. Schuldig's eyes flickered over to Nagi with a brief flash of annoyance as he picked up on Nagi's thought, then he disappeared back into the living room. Schuldig was not only hard to read, he didn't like for others to try, either.  
  
Nagi supposed it came from professional superciliousness. Crawford had the same reaction anytime someone tried to do what he perceived as 'his job.' Crawford didn't like for anyone to question his vision. Schuldig didn't like for anyone to try to pry into his thoughts. Nagi shook his head. He'll never understand these ESPers.(1)  
  
_/Nagi, give me a hand here, will you?/_ Speaking of . . .  
  
Nagi went out to the living room, Jei trailing apprehensively behind. To his amazement, three brawny guys were hauling in a couch. Schuldig followed, carrying a sleek chrome floor lamp. "Come on, Nagi, help the nice gentlemen." Two other men were unrolling, of all things, a zebra-skin rug in front of the fireplace.  
  
Nagi didn't know whether to laugh at this touch that just screamed Schuldig or scream because he didn't know how they were supposed to pay for all this. The rug cost hundreds of thousands of yen by itself. He had worked with enough high-profile people to know that the modern-looking couch the men were settling into position was designer Italian leather. Millions of yen.  
  
He settled for getting the strangers out now and asking questions later. Relying on Schuldig to block the events from any witnesses, Nagi made the rest of the furniture fly up to their apartment, unloading the truck in twenty minutes flat. With oblivious looks on their faces, the movers left. Schuldig stroked the butter-soft leather appreciatively. Nagi took an accounting of the goods, his face getting grimmer as the tally rose to alarming heights.  
  
"Schuldig, what were you thinking?"  
  
Schuldig waved him off. "Sorry about not getting your input on the bedroom suite, but I wanted to get it all in one go. If you don't like it, we can send it back and get another—"  
  
"No, Schuldig. How are we going—"  
  
"To pay for all this? 'After all, we can't openly access our money until things cool down with Esset.' Tch. Such serious thoughts for a child." Schuldig chuckled and gave Nagi a tolerant glance. "Don't worry about it. It's all been taken care of."  
  
Nagi went cold. "You didn't."  
  
"I did." Schuldig flopped down on the new couch and rubbed his cheek against a mink throw. "Mmm. This is nice, Nagi. Try it."  
  
"But, what if—"  
  
"Don't go telling me how to do what I do best, Nagi," Schuldig said. His tone stayed mild and his mouth was still curved up in an indulgent grin, but his blue eyes turned frosty. "It's all taken care of. They're writing this stuff off as we speak. They don't have to remember that it took a permanent detour, or where that was."  
  
Nagi remained silent. Schuldig was powerful enough to make his words fact, and they both knew it. Still, the feeling of unease remained. Crawford hadn't liked for Schuldig to misuse his power for such frivolous reasons. He had to have a reason for that, but Nagi didn't know what. Crawford was not a man for explanations.  
  
For the first time Nagi realized the change in his life. He no longer had to follow Crawford's rules. He no longer knew what his purpose in life was. They had lost their shot at attaining their goals when they had lost Abyssinian's sister. Maybe if they had stayed with Crawford, they would have been able to come up with an alternate course. Farfarello's death had changed all that. So now what?  
  
"You go to school, that's what."  
  
Nagi's face tightened. Sometimes it irritated him when Schuldig did that, but he knew that Schuldig really didn't care. In fact, he counted it as a perk. "What about you, Schuldig? What are you going to do while I go to school like a normal my age?"  
  
Schuldig frowned. He hadn't thought of what he was going to do. He had made his promise, gotten away from Crawford, and gotten this new place. He might be able to coast through things on his talent, but the truth of it was that they needed money. Without cash, he would become the one to 'purchase' everything. That would tax his talent quickly, not to mention his patience. He didn't like it, but he knew what had to be done. "I guess I'll get a job."  
  
"You? Work? That will be one for the history books."  
  
"Tch," Schuldig said in mock-disapproval at Nagi's sarcasm. Then his smug grin resurfaced. "Who said anything about working?" 

---  
A/N:   
_katzchen _– "kitten" in German.

(1)Most studies of psi phenomena is divided into Extra-Sensory Perception (ESP), which covers telepathy, clairvoyance, and precognition; and Psychokinetic (PK), the state of mind over matter. Nagi's a PK, Crawford and Schuldig have ESP talents. Most of you already know this, though. Who says you can't learn anything from anime?

Thanks to Black Kitten's Dream, KaraiAtsuiJoo and Fancy for their kind reviews on "Of Kittens and Dogs." They convinced me to continue with this fic when I almost quit because Schu was giving me problems. Because of you three, I was able to go on and give him problems, instead. Not for another few chapters, though! Everything else is still in rough draft, but chapter two's been beta'd and should be posted soon.  
Thanks also to my other kind reviewers on my other stories: marsupial - loved your website (the Pre-Raphaelite artists are among my favorites), and I feel honored that you find my fic humorous; Mondtanz - won't you give this fic a try? Maybe it will be more to your taste; Blue Shoe 22, dorothy whainright, and koneko bombay - thanks for enjoying the stories, that's what every writer hopes for; Matt willi() and NightMaiden02 - I love misdirection, too. Glad to see I'm not the only one; and Shadowgirl1 - Thanks! I'm one of 'those' minds too. I definitely had an evil smile on my face as I wrote it.


	3. Chapter 2: Nocturne Interlude

**Chapter 2: Nocturne Interlude**

* * *

Schuldig woke, gasping for air. He panted for a moment, wild-eyed and shaky. Did he wake Nagi? A scan told him he didn't. He looked at the clock. Three-eleven. Everything was dark, quiet. He left things that way as he got up and went to the kitchen. Empty cupboards greeted him there. They hadn't gone shopping yet. He contented himself with a drink of water, drunk from his hands because there wasn't a cup in those empty cabinets either.  
  
He splashed water on his face, then hurriedly wiped it off. He didn't like the feel of the water on his face, and the sound of the still-running tap was beginning to get to him. He shut it off. Drowning. He had dreamed he was drowning. Farf had a hold of one hand, pulling him up, but Nagi was wrapped around his legs, dragging him down. Farf's blood had made the water red, made it taste like blood. Then both of them had been dragging him down. When he had looked up, he could see Crawford's face, blurred by the water, looking down into the sea as he smiled knowingly.  
  
A rasping, lapping sound caught his attention. Jei stood in the sink, drinking drops of water from the dripping tap. Schuldig gave the tap a vicious twist and stopped the steady drip. Cat and man stared at each other for a long moment. _Still cat-watching, Farf?_ His own words came back to him. Jei slid one gold eye closed. That was too much. Schuldig turned away with a shudder.  
  
He went back to his room and got dressed. He couldn't go back to sleep, so he might as well get something to fill those damned empty cabinets.  
  
----  
  
Nagi got up to find that sometime during the night, the kitchen had been miraculously stocked. He marveled at the full cabinets and refrigerator. Well, it was a good way to start out his day. He wasn't looking forward to it, really. He was going to register for classes today. He looked down at his bookbag. He really was going to do it. He really was going to go to a normal school, for the normal reasons.  
  
The bookbag at his feet was well used, but it had been more of a cover than a necessity. Boys his age was expected to carry this accessory, so Crawford had decided that Nagi should carry one. Most of the time, it just held whatever books he might have been reading, some snacks, and his laptop. Sometimes it had held files that would have brought several very highly-placed officials down if made public. Other times, it had carried a gun, a spare straitjacket, knives, drugs, explosives. Now, it was just a bookbag.  
  
An empty bookbag. He threw in some rice crackers and a couple of packets of Pretz, then made himself some miso soup for breakfast. He lightly called to Schuldig's mind to find the telepath already awake. Schuldig joined him in the kitchen, not just awake but dressed and ready to go. Nagi didn't linger over his soup, taking in Schuldig's impatient posture and surprising alertness.  
  
Schuldig gave him a warning look. "Don't ask, kid. Let's go."  
  
----  
  
When Nagi came back from his first day, Schuldig spared him a casual glance from where he was lying in the living room. Schuldig was channel surfing, flipping through news stations. "_Okaeri,_ Nagi. How's school?"  
  
Nagi sighed. The TV hadn't been there when they had left this morning. He saw a bottle sitting beside the couch, next to Schuldig's dangling hand. Nagi saw two more bottles on top of the living room's bar, next to a brandy glass. Piles of CDs were scattered in front of the entertainment center. Nagi knew what he would see if he opened it. Maybe not the brand, but he knew what would be there.  
  
"No need to ask you what you've been doing," he said dryly.  
  
"Yes, that," Schuldig replied. "But I've been good, too." He shut the TV off and sat up. "Got a job today." The quality of his ever-present smirk changed.  
  
"Only somewhat good, I imagine. I doubt you got that job by legitimate channels." Nagi toed off his shoes and floated his now bulging bookbag to his room. "Why aren't you _at_ your new job?"  
  
"Don't start until tomorrow. The person I'm replacing is going to get fired today."  
  
"Schu!"  
  
"Don't look at me, I had nothing to do with it."  
  
"So they just told you this," Nagi asked suspiciously. "Someone straight off the street, with no resume, no work experience, or at least experience that he can claim."  
  
"No, I pulled that information from their heads. As for the resume and lack of experience, that's not going to be a problem. I'm a natural for this job."  
  
"What job is it?" Nagi asked.  
  
"Human Resources director."  
  
"Oh God."

* * *

----

A/N:   
_Okaeri _– "Welcome home" in Japanese.  
  
Chapter three should be out shortly. Hopefully before Sunday. Please read and enjoy. It starts taking a darker turn after this, so anyone that was waiting for something a bit more angsty, it'll be here soon.


	4. Chapter 3: Alone

**Chapter 3: Alone**

* * *

Don't walk behind me, I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.  
**Albert Camus (1913 - 1960) (attributed)  
**  
----  
  
Nagi turned to his other side, wondering why he was so restless. He had school the next day, with a big test in calculus first thing in the morning. But he felt so. . . full, brimming with dark emotion. Full of what? Fear? In the dark, with only himself to talk to, he could admit that he did feel fearful about the new turn his life was taking. But he also felt loss. He'd lost Farfarello and Crawford. Well, not really Crawford. He knew that Crawford was still out there somewhere. It made him feel somewhat better. But Farf . . .  
  
He sat up and leaned back against the headboard. Farfarello had been his teammate. He had also been a friend. A strange and unpredictable friend, but a friend. They had lived together, worked together, killed together. Farfarello had been Schwarz, just as he had. There was only four people in this world that knew what it was like to be a member of Schwarz. Now one of them was gone, permanently.  
  
He shook it off. Farfarello had been a good teammate, but he'd never been fully in this world. He had been twisted up in his religion, which had wrapped like barbed wire around him, something that had cut deep and was irretrievably snarled around him, blocking off most of the rest of the world. Farfarello had been a man running on borrowed time. He lacked the caution for a long life. It was a mercy he went the way he did, instead of moldering away in an insane asylum somewhere.  
  
A small trill made him look up. Jei had jumped onto the foot of his bed and was now making his way over the hilly terrain that was Nagi's bed. He got to Nagi's lap, then settled himself there, a small purring lump crowned with two pointed ears. Nagi petted the kitten. "Hello, Jei," he whispered. Jei swiveled his head and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. Nagi wiggled his fingers, making Jei perk up. Jei rolled over to try and capture those fingers and ended up rolling off of Nagi's lap.  
  
Nagi laughed. Suddenly a ghost whispered in his ear. _Clumsy? Tis a natural state in the young and uncertain.  
_  
"Farf." He looked up, almost expecting to see the Irishman. But it was just Jei and him. Jei settled back on his lap, his fur sticking up along the spine. Farfarello had made that statement while watching this very kitten learn to hunt. A drop of water dampened down some of the spiky fur. He lifted a hand to his cheek. Tears? He wiped them off hastily, then turned defiant. Why not? Schuldig wasn't here. Crawford wasn't either. Just Jei and him. He let his tears fall on his hands, his coverlet, Jei's white fur.  
  
"You want to know something, Jei?" Nagi whispered. "I want to tell you about someone named Farfarello. He was considered crazy. You see, he had something happen to him as a child, something that he never got over." He sniffed, wiped off his cheek again. "Farf was a friend of mine, and I miss him." He broke down then. "I m-miss hi-him so m-much." Jei purred on, giving the crying boy warmth and comfort, but more importantly, an ear to listen to his grief.  
  
----  
  
Schuldig stared at the ceiling. He could feel Nagi's grief-filled thoughts battering like storm waves against him. He didn't know if those feelings were only Nagi's or if some of them were his own. He picked up the bottle and drained the last of it. The glowing numbers on his DVD player told him it was three a.m. again. He was beginning to hate three a.m. Since Farf's death, it was nightmares. Tonight, Nagi's mourning over Farf. It was a bit delayed, in Schuldig's opinion, but he knew that Nagi had a tendency to hold everything in, even to himself.  
  
He also knew that it would probably help them both if he went in there and shared his grief with Nagi. He still was mourning the crazy Irish bastard himself. There were many nights he woke up with tears on his face. Like tonight. Usually around three a.m. The nights he didn't waking up crying were the nights he woke up with Farf's name dammed up behind his clenched teeth, breathing hard and covered in a cold sweat.  
  
He didn't like the heaviness and pain he felt on the nights he remembered Farfarello. But he liked even less the nights he awoke wild-eyed and trembling, remembering red water spreading behind a boat. Gone. Just like that. The bastard hadn't even felt it, the propellers chopping into his flesh, severing limbs, maybe even his head—_stop it, Schuldig_, he told himself. Those nightmares were the worst, the ones where he imagined he was underwater, watching Farfarello get minced up by those propeller blades.  
  
Let the boy cry. It would be good for him. Hell, let Schuldig cry, too. It would be good for him as well. "I guess we'll be seeing you in our dreams, Farf. 'Til then." He went to bar for another bottle. He selected an Irish single malt in Farf's memory and toasted his departed friend with the new bottle. He drank the potent liquor until he slipped into a drunken sleep.  
  
----  
  
"Schuldig. Schuldig!"  
  
Schuldig batted at the person that was shaking his shoulder. "Go 'way."  
  
"No. You've got to go to work."  
  
Schuldig curled a lip up into a sneer, never opening his eyes. "Hate work. Bunch of normals. Gonna drive me nuts with their inane shit."  
  
"How do you know? Today's your first day. Besides, if you don't go, how are we going to pay the bills?"  
  
Schuldig finally placed the voice. That flat tone was the giveaway. "Go away, Nagi. Call me in sick."  
  
"No."  
  
Schuldig cracked open an eye, then squeezed it shut again. The light was like a glass shard straight into his brain. "What do you mean, no? Who's the adult around here?"  
  
"Unfortunately, you are." Now Nagi's voice was starting to show hints of resentment.  
  
"Think you can do better, go ahead. If you aren't going to be useful and call, go away."  
  
"I wish I could work," Nagi said. "I'm sure I can do a better job of it."  
  
"You think I want to take care of a brat? Don't even know why I bother. I've never claimed to be one of the good guys," Schuldig sneered. He sat up and opened his eyes, ignoring the pain.  
  
"Then leave," Nagi said in a dead voice.  
  
"I caught that," Schuldig said, tapping his left temple. "You just thought, _'Leave like Farf did.'_ Throwing yourself a pity party, Nagi?"  
  
"Shut up, Schu," Nagi said tightly. He wished he was a child again, so he could put his hands over his ears and block out Schuldig's words.  
  
/_Won't work with a telepath,/_ Schuldig said in the boy's mind as he pulled on a jacket over his wrinkled shirt. He looked like death warmed over, but he had no choice. He had to go out to get something to kill this pain.  
  
"Go to hell."  
  
"I'm already there, thank you very much," Schuldig tossed over his shoulder as he opened the door.  
  
"Well if you want to leave this hell so badly, let me help you." Nagi shoved Schuldig through the doorway with a powerful mental blast. Schuldig made a satisfyingly large dent in the opposite wall.  
  
Shakily, the telepath pulled himself to his feet. "I don't need this shit," he snarled. "I'm out of here. Good luck on your own, boy." He staggered down the hall to the elevator.  
  
Nagi came to the door and watched the numbers over the elevator tick down to the ground floor. Then he sank to the floor. "I'm all alone," he whispered. He wrapped his arms around his upraised knees and lowered his head. ----  
  
Schuldig winced as he made his way to his car. He hurt like a bitch. He supposed he should consider himself lucky that Nagi hadn't put him _through_ the wall, but he knew without a doubt that he was going to be black and blue tomorrow.  
  
He rummaged in his pockets for his keys, then cursed. Of all the luck. He had left them upstairs. He had left his wallet, too. He stomped back to the elevator. No teenaged brat was going to prevent him from getting his stuff. He crossed his arms and drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited for the elevator to rise to the top floor. If that kid thought he was going to stand in his way, he was mistaken. He stormed out of the elevator, then stopped dead in his tracks. "Nagi?"  
  
Nagi hadn't heard him. He was crying for all he was worth, looking like a child. Hell. He was a child, one who had been abandoned by everyone that he ever had known: his parents, Tot, Farfarello, Crawford, and now Schuldig. For once in his life, Schuldig actually did feel guilty. He fidgeted. "Hey, no need for all that. I'm here, aren't I?"  
  
"But you don't want to be," Nagi said, his voice small and lost, muffled by where he had his head buried in his arms.  
  
"Feh." Schuldig sighed. He sat down next to Nagi and slung an arm casually over the boy's shoulders. "When have you ever seen me do something I didn't want to do?"  
  
Nagi wiped the tears off his face and regained his composure. "I'm sorry, Schu," he finally said, once he got back under control. "But things have been so hard, with Farf gone, and now Crawford, and you—" Nagi's voice started to wobble, and he struggled with his tears again.  
  
Schuldig looked alarmed. "Hey, none of that." Then he sighed. "Ah, hell. I'm sorry too, kid. Yeah, it's been hard. I miss Farf, too." He awkwardly gave Nagi a hug. "It'll be okay. I'm not going anywhere."  
  
Nagi buried his face into Schuldig's jacket and smiled slightly past the drying tears. He had always suspected the telepath cared, under that devil- may-care exterior. It was nice to know for a fact that he did. _You're right, Schuldig_, he thought. _I think it will be okay_.  
  
----

A/N:  
  
Hope you enjoyed this chapter—they usually don't come along this smoothly. Things are running well, so chapter 4, 'Revisiting the Past,' will be posted soon, barring any unforeseen distractions, difficulties, or disasters (too bad Crawford can't help out there).  
  
Numerous thanks to eti, my favorite reviewer/beta reader/critic. Thanks to balinese for leaving me a review. Sorry I upset you about Farf! It all has a purpose, though. Thanks also to Hisoka—Schu IS evil. That is why we love him so. As for pairings, we'll see.  
  
_Leokitsune, Jun. 11-12, 2004—Revised 6/15/04._


	5. Chapter 4: Revisiting the Past

**Chapter 4: Revisiting the Past**

**

* * *

**  
"I' d like the opportunity to work for this company, Schuldig-san, because I feel I could provide it with. . ." Schuldig let the rest of the babble go over his head as he boredly picked the man's brains. This guy was a moron, but he was less of a moron than the others that had applied for the position. He made up his mind that he would hire this guy. At least he knew his ass from a hole in the ground. He had only been working as a normal for three days, but in that time he had decided that, not to put too fine a point on it, it sucked. Completely and utterly.  
  
To amuse himself, he had the guy sing the 'Hokey Pokey' and do the dance as he sang. Having his own office had its privileges. Only the Americans could have come up with something so stupid, he sneered to himself. He remembered tormenting Crawford with it. Schuldig only needed to hum the first few bars or slip it into the pre-cog's head for it to run there for most of the day. It used to drive Crawford insane. He wondered what the other man was doing right now.  
  
Leaving his soon-to-be coworker to continue his ridiculous dance, he reached out to Crawford's mind, only to find it locked against him. That wasn't common, but it wasn't uncommon, either. If he really wanted to he could get in, no problem. Years of respect for the other man prevented him as surely as incapability ever could. He might dig around in Nagi's head, but never Crawford's.  
  
When they had first started working together, Crawford had told him that as a pre-cog, he had to have good shields against telepaths. Crawford's shields were works of art, like the stone walls of a cathedral. They were as impenetrable as stone, too. But not to Schuldig. What was stone to everyone else was like smoke to him. When Crawford had discovered that Schuldig could not be blocked, he tried a barrier that proved to be stronger than mental will: reason.  
  
Schuldig had a reputation for being reckless, careless. And he was, to a degree. Even he could see that. Yet he was able to be swayed by reason, if laid out correctly. Crawford had done just that. He had compared his talent to that of an orchestra conductor. He alone had the power to conduct the music of the future because of his vision. But an orchestra would degrade into discordant chaos if there was more than one conductor. Especially if that other conductor was a beat behind. With Schuldig and his quickness, it would only be a half-beat, or quarter. But that was still enough.  
  
So Schuldig had let Crawford do what Crawford did best, and Crawford had let him do what he did best. Schwarz had been good about that. It had let each of them shine. They had been a well-oiled unit. _Verdammt_. He missed Farf. He missed Crawford. He missed Schwarz. He would love nothing more than to take his gun from where it lay snug against his side and put a couple of bullets into this sycophant in front of him.  
  
Then he would go down the hall and get the smug man who'd hired him, thinking he had been doing _Schuldig_ a favor. Then the guy in Receiving would get a round for fantasizing about having Schuldig suck him off. Preferably in that thing that he had so wanted Schuldig to suck. Then a bullet for the xenophobic receptionist that thought he looked like a gay boy, 'everyone knows those Europeans are like that—'  
  
"Sir?"  
  
Schuldig realized that he had said the last out loud. With a wave, he wiped that memory from the man's head and sent him off. He needed to get out of here. He dropped his swipe-card off with the assistant director and gave her a subliminal directive to clock him out at the end of the day. He waved at the girl at the desk, then wiped her memory clean of seeing him leave. While he was at it, he gave her a migraine for fun.  
  
Instead of driving back to the apartment, he found himself pulling up to a familiar house. He pulled into the spot that Crawford used to park in and climbed out. He flipped through his key ring and saw that he still had the key to the old place. Why was that? He usually couldn't wait to ditch keys he no longer needed. To his further surprise, the key still unlocked the door.  
  
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Part of him wanted to turn and walk back to his car, climb back in, and drive off. Back to work, back home, anywhere but here. It was so strong that he could see it in his mind's eye. Turn, walk, drive. Instead, he walked in. Somehow, he wasn't surprised to see that everything was still in place. The remote was sitting in its customary place on the arm of the couch. A bottle, one of those glass ones that Farf and Nagi always toted around, sat on the table next to a Japanese magazine.  
  
His coat was gone, though. He felt a brief spurt of anger, then it was gone as well. Nothing could stay too long in this place. He felt like he was walking on holy ground. He turned down the hall, then left, into his old room. The closet door was open, gently swinging back and forth. Schuldig didn't like looking at that gentle sway. There should be no air moving in this place. But there was. If the hairs on his arms hadn't been standing up, he might not have felt that faint breeze.  
  
All the drawers were yanked out and scattered on the floor. They were all empty. He knelt to look under the bed. A lone sock was under there. He was reminded of the time he had peeked under Crawford's car to see the kitten with its first kill. In his mind he saw the scatter of crow feathers. Black feathers, white cat. He heard a small clicking sound.  
  
Schuldig was on his feet, gun drawn, in the blink of an eye. The closet door had closed. He laughed a little, the sound echoing in the empty room. Good thing no one was here to see him make a fool of himself. He left his room and looked into Nagi's next door. Same story. Open, empty closet and scattered, empty drawers. The mess of circuitry and wires on a corner desk was the only difference. If Schuldig hadn't seen Nagi's computer there before, he would not have recognized it as a former computer.  
  
The doors across the hall stayed shut. He didn't want to go into Farfarello's room, and he would never think of going into Crawford's. He peeked into the bathroom, but it was stripped of anything interesting. That left . . . the kitchen. He really didn't want to go there, but he went. It looked like it did before they had left. He opened the refrigerator. It looked the same, too. Nothing in the place had been touched.  
  
He opened the cabinet above the coffee-maker and found Crawford's coffee beans. He loved Crawford's coffee. But Crawford wasn't big on sharing. The only time he was lucky enough to get some of that dark ambrosia was if he happened to come home from a late night out before Crawford had gotten his second cup. Crawford only made enough for two cups and drank them both while he read the paper. With a gleeful grin, Schuldig slipped the bag into his jacket pocket.  
  
He turned around, and then his hands went lax and his eyes glazed over.  
  
----  
  
Nagi came home to darkness. That didn't bother him too much. His night vision was superior to most people's. He had spent too much time wandering in the dark to feel uncomfortable with it. "_Tadaima_," he called. Schuldig's half-hearted answer didn't materialize. Puzzled, he looked up. Schuldig was sitting on the couch. He wasn't asleep, because the TV would change stations every once in a while. Not at Schuldig's usual dizzying pace but at a slow, haphazard one.  
  
"Schuldig?"  
  
Schuldig still didn't answer, didn't turn his head. He did shut the TV off, though. Nagi frowned. "Are you having a migraine again, Schuldig?"  
  
"No."  
  
Nagi clicked on a lamp, then came over to stand in front of Schuldig and see for himself. Schuldig's head slowly rose, reminding him of something. Then Schuldig's eyes cleared, and his empty face snapped back into a more familiar expression. "_Hallo, Kind_."  
  
"Schuldig, are you feeling okay?"  
  
"I went back to the old place." Schuldig picked up the glass of whisky on the table in front of him and took a sip, then grimaced. It was watered down. The ice that had been in it had melted. But hadn't he just made it?  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Why what?" Schuldig put the glass down, then remembered what he had been talking about. Or had he picked it up from Nagi? He put a hand on his forehead. "Oh, right. Don't know. Just did." His hand dropped to his side, where his pocket felt weighted down. He pulled out the bag of coffee. Why was this still in his pocket? "Here, Nagi, catch." He tossed it to the boy, who caught it adroitly.  
  
Nagi examined the bag. "This is Crawford's."  
  
"Not anymore, it's not."  
  
"What do you think he's doing, Schuldig?" Nagi clutched the bag to his chest, wrapping his arms around it.  
  
"Don't know that, either. Being Crawford, I suppose."  
  
---- 

A/N:   
_Verdammt_ - "Damn" in German.   
_Tadaima_ – "I'm home" in Japanese. Usually responded to with "_okaeri_."   
_Hallo, Kind_ – "Hello, kid" in German.

Whee! I've been so good. I got two chapters out this time around! Thanks again to Hisoka for reviewing the 3rd chapter-- yes, I thought it was sweet, too. Not usually touchy-feely types, but I thought the circumstances called for it.


	6. Chapter 5: Memory Set to Music

**Chapter 5: Memory Set to Music**

**

* * *

**The visionary lies to himself, the liar only to others.  
-**Friedrich Nietzsche**  
  
Crawford was stowing his briefcase into the trunk of his car when he heard a plastic click. He looked in. A CD jewel case lay tucked against the side. He picked it up and looked at the cover. "Rammstein," he muttered. The ugly baby in formaldehyde was instantly recognizable to him. For some reason, the cover bothered him. That's probably how the band sells records. Making people take notice, in bad ways as well as good. He opened the case to reveal the black disk inside.  
  
It was Schuldig's. Farfarello hadn't cared for music, Nagi listened to Japanese and English bands, and he only listened to classical. He closed the trunk and got behind the wheel. The black BMW started up like a purring kitten. Germany may produce misfits like Schuldig and odd bands like Rammstein, but they made some of the best cars.  
  
He slid Schuldig's CD into the CD player and listened to the opening swell of music from the first song. Not bad. It wasn't Stravinsky, but it wasn't bad. He winced when the singer started to sing. No opera, this. But he had tolerated worse, living with a teenager and Schuldig.  
  
He let the singer's German flow over him like a tide. He chuckled at as he translated the lines, _Ich will jeden Herzschlag kontrollieren. Ich will eure Stimmen hören, Ich will die Ruhe stören_—'I want to control every heartbeat. I want to hear your voices, I want to disturb the peace.' No wonder Schuldig had three copies of this CD. It suited him very well.  
  
It was strange hearing someone other than Schuldig speaking German. He knew German, could speak it fluently, had even lived in Germany for a while. But when he thought German, he thought Schuldig. Anything German would make him think of Schuldig. Which was strange, because Schuldig was not the stereotypical German. Schuldig wasn't the stereotypical anything. None of them were.  
  
Not just German things made him think of Schuldig. He seemed to have the telepath on his mind lately. If he saw a flash of a green coat, he would turn to look, even though he knew that the green coat was in his closet at home. A glass of wine made him think of wines they had shared. Schuldig had always insisted that German wines were the best. Red sports cars made him think of the telepath, as well as morning papers and his morning coffee. Schuldig had brought in the paper for him many a morning. Conversely, on as many mornings he had filched Crawford's second cup of coffee.  
  
This was no good. Tokyo was a big place. Unless you made an effort, you might never see someone again. He needed to face facts. Schuldig and Nagi were gone. Maybe he hadn't seen the end of Schwarz, but that didn't mean couldn't have happened, either. He didn't see everything. He needed to get on with things. He flipped open his cell phone and punched in a number.  
  
"Mr. Sonett? I'll take your offer. I'll meet you in Los Angeles tomorrow evening."  
  
-----  
  
Schuldig sat up in bed, wondering what woke him. Reflexively, he looked at the clock. It was twenty after midnight. He had gotten to bed fifteen minutes ago. No more late nights for him. He worked nine to five now. "_Scheisse_," he snarled. He hadn't been sleeping well at all for weeks now. What had woken him? Something was wrong. What? He looked around. Everything looked fine here. He didn't care enough about his job to be worrying about_ that_.  
  
He threw the covers aside and shuffled over to Nagi's room. The door was cracked open to allow Jei to come and go as he pleased. Schuldig pushed the door open a little wider. He felt strange peeking in on the boy. He wasn't a paternal type. However, Nagi was his responsibility now. Jei looked up and silently yawned, but Nagi slept peacefully on. Everything was fine there. So what was it?  
  
He did a circuit of the apartment, checking the windows and locks. Everything was fine there, too. Then he realized what was wrong. It was what was _missing_. Crawford. Crawford was gone. He may have been on the outside of Crawford's shields, but he had known they were there, like pressing a palm against a wall. Now the wall was no longer there, and what it had been surrounding was gone with it.  
  
Dead? No, not dead. He would have felt that more jarringly. Just. . . gone. Back to America, most likely. He sat down against the wall outside Nagi's room and wrapped his arms around his knees. Now he was truly on his own. What was he going to do now? Crawford wasn't supposed to _leave_. Now he really was falling, this time without a net. And it was a long, long way down.  
  
-----  
  
Schuldig sat against the wall for nearly two hours, his mind slowly accelerating from frozen-numb shock to bullet-train-speed panic. _This is a non-stop trip, ladies and gentlemen. Next stop, nervous breakdown. Please stay in your seats and don't block the aisles._ He laughed nervously. Finally the thoughts bouncing around in his skull drove him to action. He scooped up his keys from their hook beside the front door and bolted from the apartment.  
  
A still-dispassionate part of him wasn't surprised to see that his destination was Schwarz's old house. He slammed the front door shut and locked it with trembling fingers once inside. Giving the kitchen a wide berth—_oh please, oh please, I can't deal with memories of Farf tonight_—he raced down the hall. He turned left out of instinct and found himself in his old room. A little mewling cry escaped his lips at the sight of the shut closet door. He felt like a child again, expecting monsters to be hiding in the closet.  
  
Even though logic told him otherwise, he was certain that if he opened the closet, he would see Farfarello in there, cut to pieces by the boat's propellers, staring at him accusingly. His eyes locked on the closet, he scrabbled madly for the exit. Long seconds later he found it and wrenched the door open, stumbling and falling on his ass doing so. His bruised tailbone didn't even register. He scrambled back until he slammed against the door across the hall.  
  
The door popped open, tumbling him into the room. A low moan came from him when he saw where he was. Farf's room. He did not want to be here. No, no. Not at all. This was worse than the closet. A choked, animal keen came from Schuldig's throat. He didn't want to be here. He didn't know where else to go, though. He crawled out into the hall and huddled against the wall. Where to go? Was there nowhere for him to go? He looked up and laughed. The answer was in front of him all along.  
  
He pushed himself up to his knees, then staggered to his feet. He wrapped his hand around the doorknob, hesitated. He wasn't supposed to be here. Yet where else could he go? He entered Crawford's sanctum. He was expecting, hoping that Crawford was there. The room was empty, except for one mentally battered telepath. His stress from the night caught up with him all at once. He couldn't say why, but the moment he crossed the threshold, the panic-storm passed.  
  
Here, he felt. . . safe. He collapsed on the bed, face first. It had been stripped of sheets and pillows, but he still caught the faintest whiff of Crawford's aftershave, his soap, his very skin. Soothed by the whisper of scent, he fell into a deep, nightmare-free sleep, his first since Farfarello had died. However, it was not dreamless.  
  
--- 

A/N:  
_Scheisse_ – "Shit" in German.


	7. Chapter 6: Farfarello's Waltz

**Chapter 6: Farfarello's Waltz**

* * *

Waltz, The Devil's dance  
Waltz, And in twilight gray  
Waltz, Darkness grows much faster  
**-The Misfits, "Mephisto Waltz"  
**  
"Still cat-watching, Farf?"  
  
Farfarello looked at him, then looked back out the window. "Nay. The kitten's gone." Schuldig came up to stand next to him. Even in the dream, he could smell the scent of blood that he associated with Farf. He could also smell brine, but his mind shied away from that. The waves of Farfarello's insanity were soothing, in their own way. That's why he had always preferred to spend time with him over the others.  
  
Hell, he had even taken the blame for some of the things that the Irishman had done, like shooting the boss's daughter. That had been a shame. That could have been a great source of amusement, especially the way that things had been going with Bombay and her. But Farf was even more amusing than that insipid spoiled girl ever could have been.  
  
Farfarello had been more than fun. Farf had been an anchor point for him that was now gone. Farf had done far more for him in that respect than even Crawford. Schuldig didn't want to admit it, but one of the reasons that he felt Farfarello's loss so keenly was the effect it had on him. It had put him on shaky ground.  
  
The insane Irishman and the controlled American had been the two minds he had returned to time and time again, using their star-bright minds to orient himself in the tempestuous seas of humanity. They were unique outposts in the myriad of minds that he brushed against every day. No matter where he was, Schuldig was able to lock in on Farfarello's purple-tinged madness or Crawford's white-hued focus.  
  
Then Crawford, his last remaining beacon, had left. True, Schuldig had left first. But Crawford had still been there, within his psychic reach. Crawford had changed that, moving out of Schuldig's tenuous contact. With the American now gone, Schuldig was left to spin chaotically, losing himself in the damned normal world. He let dream-Farf's thoughts flow over him, blissfully stabilizing him even as it spun him in a new direction.  
  
Would you like to dance?" Schuldig blinked at the dream's new turn. Fujimiya's sister was in front of him, looking at him expectantly.  
  
"My pleasure, _Fraulein_," he told her as he swept them both onto the floor. A waltz was playing, slow and dreamy. The girl in his arms was humming along under her breath, her small hand light on his shoulder. It was like she wasn't there at all. She was dressed all in white, like her brother, who was watching them from his post by the wall. The other members of Weiß were also there, also in white.  
  
Balinese was talking to a black-clad woman with short dark hair. The expression on his face was wistful, regretful. Ah. Balinese's lost love, Asuka. Or would that be Neu? The youngest member of Weiß was handing a glass of punch to his sister/cousin, Ouka. He smiled fondly at the two. They had provided him with such entertainment.  
  
It had been delicious when he had discovered that Bombay was the long-lost Mamoru, and thought to be Ouka's half-brother. It had been sweeter still to pull the truth from the minds of the Takatori clan. Oh, they had been so savory. Too bad they were all dead. They had afforded him with a wealth of treats to relish.  
  
Hmm. He had to revise that. _One_ Takatori was still alive. Bombay would afford some amusement for a while yet. Especially now that he had to take the role of Persia, his dearly departed boss, then uncle, and still unsuspected father. Schuldig's wicked grin widened. Weiß had always been such fun.  
  
Crawford sailed by, dancing with Persia's redheaded secretary. Crawford was wearing black, she was dressed in white. Schuldig cracked a grin. This was too much. His mind had color coded the 'good guys' and the 'bad guys' in their appropriate colors. "What a joke," he laughed.  
  
"Aye."  
  
Schuldig turned back to his dance partner to find that he was now dancing with Farfarello. Strangely, Farf was wearing a white tux. "When we dance, who leads?" the Irishman asked him.  
  
"It looks like I do," Schuldig told him as he twirled the other man around the floor. The golden light made Farfarello's single eye gleam like a flat gold coin.  
  
Farfarello tilted his head curiously to one side. "Do ye?" He stopped, held out a wineglass to Schuldig. "Drink with me, and drink as I."(1)  
  
Schuldig took the glass filled with dark red wine. The scent was Crawford's, but the taste was bitter.  
  
"You'll like this better."  
  
Schuldig knew that voice, missed it more than he wanted to admit. No, _needed _it more than he wanted to admit. Crawford stood there, offering him another glass. The glare on Crawford's lenses prevented the telepath from seeing the expression in his eyes. Schuldig took the wineglass. Crawford embraced him, pulling him back against his chest, and wrapped his hand around the telepath's. "Drink it, in remembrance of me,"(2) he whispered in Schuldig's ear.  
  
When Schuldig woke, he imagined he still could taste the sweetness of the wine that Crawford had given him, covering the bitterness of Farfarello's offering. 

----

A/N:

_Fraulein_ - "miss" or "single girl" in German.

(1) Busy, curious, thirsty fly,  
Drink with me, and drink as I.  
-William Oldys (1696–1761): On a Fly drinking out of a Cup of Ale.

(2)1 Corinthians 11:23-25

Well, here's Chapter 6. It's a dream, so it's kinda weird. It looks like I might have an interruption in my post schedule, folks. I might be moving in the near future, and moving takes ALOT of time, preparation and energy for me. Last time I moved, I had 13 boxes of _just _books. I've gotten more since then. I might try to bang out a block of chapters, just to shut Schwarz up. Nagi seems to be really pushing for it. The next chapter is all his. His and a certain member of Weiss', that is. We'll just have to see how I can carve out my time sigh. Thanks again to Hisoka. Everyone loves a steady reviewer! I'm no exception. Thanks for keeping me going, you don't know how much I appreciate it!

_Leokitsune Jun. 13-15,_ _2004 11:21 pm (Eastern time)_

----


	8. Chapter 7: Friendly Overtures

**Chapter 7: Friendly Overtures  
  
**

* * *

Bring not all mischief you are able to upon an enemy, for he may one day become your friend.  
**-Saadi (1184 - 1291)  
**  
Nagi settled his heavy book bag higher on his shoulder with a silent sigh. He knew that he should go home and start studying on his history test, but he didn't want to see Schuldig right now. School was a strain for him. The classes themselves were nothing at all. He coasted through with little worry. It was his classmates that bothered him.  
  
To be around normals most of the day, then to go home to Schuldig, who—despite his best efforts to hide it—was getting stranger and stranger every passing day.... It was too much for him to handle today. He had never wished for a normal life until recently. Instead of worrying about school and taking his home life for granted, as most of the other students did, he took his schoolwork for granted and worried about his home life.  
  
Schuldig was coming apart. Nagi was no telepath, but he had worked with one of Esset's best for years. And he knew Schuldig. The telepath thought himself to be strong, but he had depended heavily on Crawford, and of all people, Farfarello. This schism in Schwarz affected Nagi. It affected Schuldig much more strongly. He knew that Schuldig hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in weeks. Not since they left. He hadn't even come home last night.  
  
He didn't know what to do for Schuldig. He had a bad feeling that this was going to get worse before it got better. If it got better at all. Mulling over his situation, he walked into a nearby café. He headed to the back, away from the windows, searching for a safe corner that would give him a good vantage point over the whole café. He may no longer be an assassin, but old habits died hard. The only table that fit that description was already occupied. His bag slid off his shoulder and hit the floor with a dull thump when he saw who it was.  
  
Nagi stared down at his former enemy. He didn't know what he should feel. He had no reason to love Weiß. He had no real reason to hate them, either. Omi stared back, expression guarded, but his gesture was friendly enough. He waved to the chair across from him. "Would you like to join me? They have the best melon torte here."  
  
Years later, Nagi would still wonder what had gotten him to agree to share a table with a member of Weiß that day. However, he was glad he had, for Omi was right. They did have the best melon torte.  
  
--- 

A/N: Here ya go. A mini chapter to hold Schwarz off until the weekend. Thanks to Malik's love and Hisoka (again! Thank you, thank you!) for the sweet reviews. Hope to have 8-10 posted this weekend, if Schuldig will cooperate. Maybe sooner, if they're all good.


	9. Chapter 8: Oaths and German Wines

**Chapter 8: Oaths and German Wines**

**

* * *

**  
Crawford studied the beautiful Amazon that was Edward Sonett's fiancée. She was tall and leggy, a former model, just what you would expect to see on the arm of a CEO of an up-and-coming company. That didn't bother him in the least. He never lacked for beautiful women of his own, when he desired female companionship. What bothered him was the green dress she wore.  
  
It was the exact shade of Schuldig's jacket, which even now was hanging in the closet of his hotel suite, a splash of color in his white, cream, and black attire. It was a bold color, for a bold personality. She should not have been wearing it. It suited her coloring just fine. It just didn't suit her personality.  
  
She fawned and fluttered over Sonett, looking up at him with limpid eyes. Crawford couldn't say why he found it as irritating as he did. Schuldig wouldn't have cared if she was wearing the same color as he was. The telepath would have been more interested in how he could screw her, or, failing at that, screw up her life. He probably would have done the latter just for her off-hand, condescending comment on the German wine Sonett had ordered to go with his dessert.  
  
Her name was Samaria Tilley. He knew all about her past. Sonett had given him the information for him to read over on the flight to America. It had not been very stimulating reading. She was what she seemed. A small town girl that had traded on her face to make it in the big city. She wasn't anything special. She wasn't a schemer, but she wasn't a saint, either.  
  
Sonett was serious about marrying her. He had big dreams, though, dreams that did not include drug problems, scandals, alimony payments or extramarital affairs. Edward Sonett had aspirations of a political career and a dynasty to pass his financial interests on to. He was willing to pay large sums of money for reassurance that Ms. Tilley could fit that bill. She was the whole reason that Sonett had been foolish enough to have contacted Esset trying to find a pre-cognitive, the reason that had brought him here.  
  
Feeling out-of-sorts about her wardrobe choice was not an issue. Evaluating his visions about her was what he needed to focus on.  
  
----  
  
Crawford propped his feet on his suite's balcony railing and toasted the city lights below. Los Angeles was another city that never slept. The sweet German _eiswein_ felt velvety, honeyed on his tongue, sliding coolly down his throat. He licked the sweetness off his lips, enjoying the hint of bite in the vintage. It was a favorite of his, ever since that night he had first gotten drunk with Schuldig.  
  
It had been two years after they first met and a year after they had started working together. Schuldig had spontaneously invited Crawford to go out drinking with him when they had come back to Munich after a long assignment in Yemen. Schuldig had been happy, nearly giddy, about coming back to a place where he could freely obtain and drink alcohol. Crawford was sure that Schuldig would never have asked him if that hadn't been the case.  
  
To the amazement of both, Crawford had accepted, and they had started out in a small French restaurant not far from Rosenkreuz. Schuldig, still feeling giddy about their return, had explained why he preferred to eat French food before a night of drinking—high cream and butter content. "Coats the stomach, you see. Lets you drink a little longer." That was also where Crawford had run into Schuldig's peculiar patriotism.  
  
Schuldig could care less about politics or national pride. He had no remaining family to foster ties to his home country. He ate German food with great readiness but saved his enthusiasm for Italian cuisine. He preferred sporty Italian, American or Japanese cars, turning his nose up at the cars of his country. He loved his shoes and suits like he loved his food—Italian. The only thing that Schuldig was staunchly German on was his alcohol. Even with French food, he would only order German wines.  
  
Schuldig, Schuldig, Schuldig. Why was the telepath always on his mind nowadays? He had even gotten this bottle because of him. The vintage was one of Schuldig's favorites, the one that he had ordered that night after they had returned to Munich from the Yemen assignment, and had been one of several wines they had drunk that night. Crawford smiled in reminiscence.  
  
That night had been the one that had put the gears of Schwarz into motion. They had clicked that night, creating the first components of Crawford's team, the one that he had been so carefully nurturing to set into motion his vision of apocalypse. Crawford had been unsure of Schuldig until that night.  
  
----  
  
_Munich, Germany, three years ago  
  
_Crawford felt hot and tired, an aftereffect of the relentless desert heat of the Middle Eastern country he had just returned from. He didn't mind snow, ice, chill winds, sleet or winter rain. He had been born and raised in the Maine-New England part of the United States, and the cold had been a fact of life there. It was heat that bothered him. He was glad to be back in Germany, where the weather made sense to him.  
  
Not as glad as a certain German telepath, though. Schuldig had gained a spring in his step and an eager sheen in his eye the moment he had left the terminal. The redhead had seemed to be humming like a live wire, crackling with excitement and energy. "Hey Brad. You hungry?"  
  
Crawford was so jet-lagged that he missed the hated usage of his first name. He turned over the concept of 'hunger' and found that yes, it did apply to his current needs. "Yes."  
  
"I know this place not too far from Rosenkreuz. We can go there after we turn in our report."  
  
Crawford shrugged. "Sure."  
  
Half an hour later, he found himself seated in a small French restaurant. "French, Schuldig? I would've never figured you for the type."  
  
"Oh, I'm not," Schuldig assured him breezily. "I only come here if I'm about to do some serious drinking."  
  
"Before you go drinking? Why?"  
  
"Because of all the cream and butter they use in everything. Coats the stomach, you see. Lets you drink a little longer." Schuldig tilted his head curiously. "You _do_ drink, don't you, Brad?"  
  
Crawford felt sufficiently revived at this point to notice the use of his first name. "Crawford. And yes, I do." He picked up the wine list and scanned it with a critical eye. "Not bad. I think I'll have a glass of this Chateau de—"  
  
"No, no. That French piss will ruin my appetite."  
  
Crawford raised an eyebrow. "You won't be drinking it, I will."  
  
"But I would have to watch you drink it." Schuldig motioned to their waiter. "Bring one from my stock, Michel."  
  
Five hours later, they were at Schuldig's apartment, finishing yet another bottle of Germany's best. Crawford had become a convert by the fifth vintage that Schuldig had pressed on him. They had ended up in three different bars, where Schuldig was obviously a regular, and had sampled different wines in each. A glass here, a glass there. A magnum of that amazing eiswein. Now this wonderful Riesling.  
  
"I'll never drink another French wine again," he announced to the room at large. He lay on the floor, a glass balanced on his stomach.  
  
"I'll hold you to that," a voice drifted over to him from somewhere off to his right, somewhere in the vicinity of the couch. He lifted his head and fuzzily tried to see who it was.  
  
"Schu?"  
  
"Don't call me that," Schuldig grumbled. Crawford heard the sound of someone rolling onto the floor, then Schuldig crawled over to prop himself on the coffee table so he could peer into Crawford's face. "Are you drunk?" A grin split his face. "You are, you are!"  
  
"So are you," Crawford grumbled. "And you call me Brad, so I can call you Schu."  
  
The smile dropped from Schuldig's face. "Call me Schuld, if you want a nickname. Don't call me Schu."  
  
"Hmph. Schu, Schu, Schu."  
  
Schuldig's eyes narrowed. It would have been more threatening if he was not weaving slightly. "I said, don't call me that."  
  
"Deal with it. You call me Brad, I'm gonna call you Schu." Crawford felt childishly smug. He realized he would probably be appalled by this tomorrow, but now he was having too much fun needling Schuldig to care. His vision was getting fuzzy. Where were his glasses? He reached out to feel around.  
  
"What are you looking for?" Schuldig was a curious creature. Nothing could make him forget a pout like satisfying his curiosity.  
  
"My glasses."  
  
Schuldig snorted. "They're on your face."  
  
"They are?" Crawford reached up and felt them. "Oh." He relaxed again and stared dreamily up at the ceiling. He had forgotten how pleasant getting this wasted could be. It took away the hard edges, the white auras, the visions. Everything became the present, with no echoes of the future. "I'm going to regret this in the morning."  
  
Schuldig leaned over to peer into Crawford's face again, this time nearly tumbling on top of the American. "Hangover?"  
  
"Nah. Loss of control. I probably said something tonight I'm going to regret tomorrow."  
  
Schuldig waved a hand. The action unbalanced him to where he fell backwards. He continued talking like nothing had happened. "Don't worry about it. We're partners, after all."  
  
"Are we?" Crawford put the glass aside, rolled over, propped himself up on his elbows then snaked over to where Schuldig lay. Now he was the one that was peering into Schuldig's face. "Do you think so?"  
  
Schuldig's face grew serious, even a little anxious. The vulnerability there was tantalizing. Crawford pushed that strange thought away. "Well, sure. Aren't we?" Schuldig asked solemnly, his eyes searching Crawford's. Crawford felt tendrils searching his brain.  
  
"Stop it, Schu." The invasive touches disappeared. He considered the question. They were partners, yes. Schuldig had been assigned to him fresh out of Rosenkreuz. Crawford was already a veteran of five years of field work by then. He'd had his eye on the telepath for a year before he was assigned to him. "It depends, Schuldig."  
  
"Does it have anything to do with that plan in the back of your head?" Schuldig flinched back at the sharp glance Crawford threw him. "Relax. We're partners. I don't give a damn about Esset." He sat up, his face inches from the seer's. "I kinda like the idea myself." His grin was wicked, but a fervor burned in his eyes. "We can rule hell together."  
  
Crawford snagged a half-full glass off the table. He lifted it meaningfully. Schuldig found a glass and raised it too. "An oath, then. To the plan."  
  
Schuldig's mouth curved into a smirk, but his eyes and words were deadly serious. "To the plan. Let the devil take the hindmost, and to hell with everyone else." The two glasses kissed, making the crystal ring. Without taking their eyes off each other, they drank to the toast. When Schuldig finished the last drop, he flung the glass into his fireplace. Crawford started at the sound of breaking glass, then flung his glass, too. The two looked solemnly at the cold hearth, then at each other, then began laughing like loons.  
  
Schuldig wiped off tears of mirth from his eyes. "What are we laughing for?"  
  
"Don't know. Don't care." Crawford flopped back onto his back again.  
  
Schuldig nudged him with a toe. "So what _is_ the plan?"  
  
Crawford smiled. "I'll tell you the details when you need to know."  
  
"Feh. Damned closed-mouthed pre-cogs."  
  
"Damned nosy telepaths."  
  
For some reason, this set them off on a new gale of hilarity. "That wasn't _that_ funny, you know," Crawford finally managed.  
  
"So what? What's a little laughter between partners in crime?" Schuldig replied. He fell over on his side, his head nudging Crawford's ribs. His deepening breathing told the American that the telepath was falling asleep. Crawford usually didn't care much for unnecessary contact, but decided to let it go this time. The body heat he felt from Schuldig was pleasant. A long strand of hair draped across his chest. Crawford fingered the fiery length curiously. The hair was cool and smooth to the touch. He wrapped the lock around his finger then fell asleep himself.  
  
----  
  
Crawford considered his wine glass as he sat on his high-rise L.A. balcony. Some years had passed since the two of them had made that oath. They had expanded their circle by two and had worked hard to attain their goals. Crawford had been surprised at how quickly his goals had become Schwarz's. Schuldig had been his most dedicated follower. So what had happened? The loss of Fujimiya's sister could have been circumvented. Maybe. His foresight had become unreliable lately.  
  
He was sure of one thing. With Schwarz behind him, he could have gotten the plan back on track. Farfarello's death had been unexpected and had created unwelcome ripples that still were being felt. The full repercussions were yet to come, he was sure of it. He raised the glass. "To Schuldig and to Nagi, wherever you might be. And to Farfarello, too. I know where you are, you son of a bitch. May you rot there."  
  
---- 

A/N:  
  
eiswein: German for "ice wine." It is made from grapes that have been frozen on the vine and pressed that way, making for a sweeter wine.

Sorry for not having more. I had hoped to have 8-10 posted this weekend, but it just didn't work that way. Feh. Thanks to Hisoka-- glad you liked that chapter, I thought of you when I posted it. Thanks also to Nony (I know who you are)-- always glad to see you aboard. And Minerva Solo! squee! Thanks so much for your kind words about 'Love Match.' You (and your stories) rock.

Don't know when the rest will be posted, I've been much busier than I had anticipated (and Schwarz more contrary than they should be, damned rewrites). Hopefully I'll have Ch. 9, 'Drinks After Work,' posted in a day or two.


	10. Chapter 9: Drinks After Work

**Chapter 9: Drinks After Work**

* * *

It is hard to fight an enemy who has outposts in your head.  
-**Sally Kempton  
**  
  
Schuldig picked up his mug and drained it, setting it down with a heavy thump on the bar. The bartender knew this to be a signal to get him another. He had been glad to find a bar in Tokyo that had a good selection of German beers, including his favorite lager. Two of the members of Weiß were at a nearby table, enjoying a few drinks themselves.  
  
As a matter of fact, that was the other main reason he had made this bar a regular stop; he knew that occasionally the older members of Weiß showed up here after missions. That was when they were at their most delectable. Normally, he would have been more than happy to play with his old prey. That was before his life had turned upside down.  
  
Schuldig watched them resentfully. Why did they all survive? What made them think that they were the 'good guys' here? The tall blond and the stoic redhead were acting as if they were ordinary people having a friendly drink after work. Even the normally icy Ran was sitting there with a small smile. It was a ghost of one, but it was there. What did he have to smile about? He had no reason to ever smile again! Schuldig'd had a hand in that. He hated to see his work so casually undone.  
  
The buzzing in his head swelled, grew more insistent. It had been building all day, and not even alcohol could dull the annoying murmur. He massaged his temple, trying to ease the ache. It would probably work better if he could reach inside his skull and massage his brain. There were days his 'gift' was nothing of the sort. More 'curse.' He tossed several bills on the bar and staggered to the bathroom.  
  
He maintained his composure until the bathroom door swung shut, then he bolted for the nearest stall. He threw up until he had the dry heaves, then forced himself to stop before he did any damage. Yeah. Some gift. His stomach was in knots, taking some of the attention away from his pounding head.  
  
He flushed the toilet and went out to the sinks, where he washed off his face, washed out his mouth. He hadn't had an episode like that in a while. Another thing to damn Crawford and Farfarello for. Right now, he could cheerfully kill them both. If one of them wasn't already dead, that is. As for the other. . . . "Damn you, Crawford."  
  
The jag of anger was accompanied by a swell of nausea. He gritted his teeth, breathing hard. His stomach flipped, flipped again, then settled reluctantly. The voices were getting worse. "Go away, damnit," he breathed raggedly. "None of you are me. Get out of my head!" Two minds, approaching the door. A pair of young men, looking for a quick place to do the nasty. He savagely lashed out at them with his mind, making them reel and recoil from the door. They faded, then everyone else faded, too.  
  
A faint hum started, making the bathroom look harsh, too white. But the voices were _gone_. He dipped his head in relief, sagging until his fiery locks touched the sink he had a death-grip on.  
  
"Guilty ye are, and guilty ye'll always be. Tis God's punishment for the wicked."  
  
Schuldig sucked in a breath, shocked. "Farf?"  
  
"Aye."  
  
Schuldig straightened, looked up. Farfarello looked at him with detached interest, like a lazy cat would watch a goldfish. "_Scheisse,_" Schuldig said. "I'm hallucinating."  
  
"If it pleases ye. Why aren't ye playing with yer wee Weiß pets, Schuldig?"  
  
"Head hurts too much. Too tired."  
  
"Liar."  
  
"_Fick dich_, Farf. What do you know?" Schuldig turned on the water again and washed his hands.  
  
"Playin' at being one of the flock, eh? How long before ye become a sheep like the rest, Schuldig? Already ye be wearin' the suits." Farfarello tilted his head appraisingly. "Ye look like Crawford."  
  
"Yeah?" Schuldig flicked a glance at Farfarello, looked away again. He didn't want to think about Crawford.  
  
"Crawford ran off and left ye, I see. Left the two of ye like lambs to the wolves. Miss him, do ye? The demon's upset because he no longer can worship his God. He's left, taking the beloved cathedral with him." Farfarello tapped the side of his head. "His soaring stone cathedral, his mind. The one where ye so want to worship, to sacrifice yer soul."  
  
"You're nuts, Farf. Always have been, always will be." Schuldig turned off the water, then grabbed a couple of paper towels out of the dispenser. He dried off his hands with quick, impatient movements.  
  
Farfarello watched with his single eye, intent as a crow. "Have I upset ye, Schuldig? Or are ye upset because Crawford's not here anymore, to look at ye approvingly and call ye a demon?" Farfarello shifted closer, circling like a shark, until Schuldig could almost feel him brush his skin. For reasons he couldn't understand, Schuldig instinctively cringed away.  
  
Something lightly brushed his cheek. A strand of hair? A scarred, pale fingertip? Schuldig reared his head back. "Back off, Farf," he growled warningly.  
  
Farf chuckled in low, smoky amusement. "Oh, I'll be gettin' closer still, Schuldig."  
  
Schuldig held his ground, but balled up his fists. "Last warning, Farfarello."  
  
There! That touch again! Fury roared through him, making his vision turn red and blind. With a wordless, feral roar, Schuldig swung out, connecting hard. He heard something crack, but Farfarello just laughed. Schuldig felt something twinge in his head, then blackness replaced the red.  
  
---  
  
Aya stepped nimbly aside when the bathroom door swung open, narrowly avoiding getting hit by the man that was coming out. Violet eyes met blue. Aya's eyes widened, then narrowed dangerously. He was opening his mouth to say something when Schwarz's telepath grinned. Something was wrong with that grin. It wasn't anything that Aya could place, but it made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He stepped back and let the other man pass.  
  
It didn't take long for the telepath to cut through the crowd and go out the door. Aya glowered after him, then frowned to himself. His frown deepened when he looked inside the bathroom and saw the shattered mirror, the blood smeared on the shards. Mastermind must not have liked what he saw there. Aya didn't blame him. He didn't like the look of the man himself. Aya wove through the crush back to his table. He didn't do it as quickly as the telepath had, but he did it nearly as efficiently. Yohji arched a brow at his return. "I thought you were getting the next round."  
  
"I just saw Mastermind." Aya slid into the booth, facing Yohji.  
  
Yohji's other brow joined the first. "No kidding? Did he steal the drinks on your way back? Did you come to get me to help you recover our precious sake?"  
  
Aya's glare could have melted steel, but it didn't so much as wilt a curl on Yohji's head. "No. He was acting. . . " Aya tried to think of a way to explain that brief, baffling encounter. "Strange."  
  
"He IS strange. Schwarz equals freaks, remember?" Yohji lit a cigarette, then tapped his bare wrist, the one that his watch normally sat on. "We're off the clock, Aya. No Abyssinian and Balinese here. Just Aya and everyone's favorite Yohji Kudou, enjoying a drink together."  
  
"Hn."  
  
"Don't 'hn' me. God knows why I put up with you."  
  
"Because Omi's too young, and Ken only goes to sports bars."  
  
"That's my Aya. Literal as always."  
  
---- 

A/N:   
Scheisse – "shit" in German.   
Fick dich – "fuck you" or "fuck yourself" in German.

Managed another chapter. How, I don't know, with my time schedule as it is. Yes, I know. Schu has a really bad potty mouth. Well, I guess if you are looking for it, chapters 7, 8 and 9 have my O/N, C/S and A/Y hints. One day, I WILL write more than hints. Will, will, will! BTW, yes, it's official. I will be moving. Gah. Ch. 10 will probably take a while because of this. Damn real life. Damn moving. Thanks, Hisoka! Drunk!Schu and Drunk!Brad amuses me, too.


	11. Chapter 10: The Bell Tower

**Chapter 10: The Bell Tower**

* * *

How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude!  
But grant me still a friend in my retreat,  
Whom I may whisper, Solitude is sweet.  
**-William Cowper, _Retirement._ Line 739.  
**  
  
Crawford knew almost immediately that he was in a dream. As a pre-cognitive, he always had to be aware of his dreams. They often held hints of the future. He hated Rosenkreuz as much as every other Rosenkreuz graduate, but he was thankful that they had honed his ability so he could observe his own dreams. He couldn't necessarily control them—that wasn't desired—but he could sift through them for prophetic content.  
  
This one had none. It didn't have the strange white aura that limned all his prophetic visions, or the ghostly blurring where several different futures were followed at one time. Everything was clear, crisp. He recognized his surroundings. It was the library of the cathedral on the hill that his mother used to attend. Even back then, he had held little interest in organized religion but had found a friend in the old priest that had run the cathedral's library. While his mother prayed, he would come here to read Francis Bacon, John Milton, Nathaniel Hawthorne.  
  
He often dreamed of the place. Not surprising, really. He associated it with security, serenity. The library was quiet, dimly lit, and deserted. That was typical too. Crawford never dreamed of others. No one, except for the occasional, annoying invasion of Schuldig, ever appeared in Crawford's non-prophetic dreams.  
  
Not even Schuldig had invaded this place, though. Crawford had buried it deep, deep in his subconscious, placing it out of the telepath's reach. Crawford could freely visit his sanctuary in dreams. That was enough for him. He was not a man given to sentimentality, so he felt no need to cling consciously to talismans of the past, including memories.  
  
This time in his dream, he climbed up to the bell tower of the cathedral. He used to go there frequently as well. It was his place of solitude, the place where no one could reach him. When he was a child, he would slip up there and savor the feeling of what life would be like if he was the last person left on earth.  
  
The tower had commanded a spectacular view of the countryside. It was classic New England, patchwork quilts of trees as far as the eye could see, broken by broad ribbons of green pastures. It was here that he had first started to formulate what he always thought of as _the plan_. He had determined his fate in this tower and had mapped out what it would take to get there.  
  
Years later, after his parents moved to Boston, he would gain his prophetic powers. He used them, like he had used everything else, to attain his goals. He never forgot the tower though, even though he had never seen it again during waking hours. Over the years it had gained a prominent place in his dreams, his sanctuary of solitude. He loved the feeling of aloofness, of uniqueness that he found there. Tonight, that feeling didn't come. It was baffling. That had never happened before.  
  
He sat on the windowsill, looked out on the land and felt, for the first time, loneliness instead.  
  
---- 

A/N:   
Crawford interlude. Sorry for the short chapter, next chapter is longer, I promise! Thanks to Nony, Hisoka and E-san for the reviews. Made my day.


	12. Chapter 11: Hunted in the Dark

**Chapter 11: Hunted in the Dark**

**

* * *

**  
I hunt  
therefore I am  
harvest the land  
taking of the fallen lamb—  
-**Metallica, 'Of Wolf and Man'**  
  
The moon rose high above, a cold, silver eye that was indifferently blind to the scene below. Schuldig ran, pushing aside branches as he went. His breath sawed out of his lungs, became vaporous trails that wisped away into the cold night air. When he inhaled, he imagined that he could smell dark, loamy soil, with its sickly-sweet undercurrent of decay. Rotting leaves carpeted the forest floor. Under the leaves were dead things. Dead flesh. The smell of rot was too cloying to be otherwise.  
  
It was winter here. The leaves were already rotting on the ground, with streamers of ice hanging from the trees. The sluggish stream he had splashed through had been so cold it burned, covered with a faint skin of ice that he hadn't known was there until he had crashed through it. A chill wind made the nude branches clack together, whispered through the twisted limbs.  
  
He ran on, deeper into the woods. His destination was in sight, flashing glimpses to him through the stark black branches. A white cathedral stood on a hill, turned amber by the warm light pouring from its windows. It was a thing of grace and beauty, and it was his salvation. He stumbled upon the path more by accident than by design, although it was what he had been looking for ever since he had entered the dark wood.  
  
He turned unerringly to the cathedral. It was hidden now by the trees but acted as a lodestone, pulling Schuldig to it. Something ran parallel to him, something dark and lithe that flitted through the woods. He could hear the other's breathing. He ran faster. The other kept up, then disappeared. Schuldig didn't have to see it to know it was still there. _Damned thing is playing with me,_ he thought.  
  
He skidded to a stop when he came upon the cathedral door. It towered over him, a silent sentinel of age-darkened wood. He pounded on the door, but no one answered. He ran around the building, but all the doors remained shut to him. The lights shone out of narrow windows, too narrow for him to climb through, even if he dared to break the glass.  
  
All the windows showed rooms filled with things, not people. No one was there. In despair, he looked up wistfully at the tall spires. A shadowy figure flitted across one high, inaccessible window, the only sign of life. _He's too far away. He'll never hear me, no matter how loud I scream.  
_  
Schuldig had no choice. The hunter was still in the wood. He unwillingly left the cathedral behind; the safe bastion was locked against him. The woods grew thicker past the cathedral. The hunter drew closer. He felt the brush of the hunter's outstretched hand on the back of his neck—  
  
He shot upright with a start. Where was he? He looked about in bewilderment. He was no longer in the forest. Overturned and splintered pews were strewn around the small church, making the once primly straight aisle a maze to be navigated. Stained glass shards crunched under his feet as he picked his way through the debris. The altar was untouched though. A pair of tall candles on it were lit to show him the way.  
  
The altar was simple, with a gold-embroidered, white linen cloth covering it. The two candles flanked a ragged Bible, a cracked chalice, and a small brazier that once had held incense but now held a charred cross and some bits of bone. They looked like finger bones. He opened the Bible to find it well used, with highlighted and underlined passages. Small, dense notations crawled around the text.  
  
The handwriting wasn't familiar, but the Bible was. It was Farfarello's. Farfarello had never let anyone touch his Bible, not even Crawford. A door slammed shut, and Schuldig jumped back guiltily. A familiar figure came into view out of the red-hued dark.  
  
"Schuldig. Come to pay yer respects, then?" Farfarello came to the altar and knelt in front of it. Shards of glass sliced and stabbed his knees, bringing forth blood, but of course Farfarello didn't blink at this. He merely clasped his hands together and peered up at the crucified figure in the shadows past the candlelight. The light was poor, but to Schuldig, the figure didn't look like Jesus. It looked like a nun.  
  
"Where are we?"  
  
"In the space within. The madness is outside. He's the one that brought ye here, just as he brought the offerings for the altar." Farfarello gestured to the brazier and its gruesome contents.  
  
"The madness? In your head?" Schuldig crouched down to be on eye level to Farfarello, but the Irishman never took his eye off the crucifixion.  
  
"The cathedral on the hill . . . . Ye couldn't get in, could ye, Schuldig?" Farfarello gave him a sidelong glance before focusing his gaze once more on his object of devotion. He spoke as if he was talking to it rather than Schuldig. "Nor could I. The doors there were locked against me. The doors here are always open. Ye've an unlocked door of yer own, mind-talker. And now an uninvited guest has arrived."  
  
"What do you mean?" Schuldig had an uneasy feeling that maybe he did know what Farfarello was referring to.  
  
"Insanity. The madness that was without is now within. He seeks that which is his. That which ye hold, that ye've stolen."  
  
"Stolen?" Schuldig was surprised. He was a murderer. He was a man with few morals. But he was never a thief.  
  
"Aye. A treasure ye keep, right here." Farfarello tapped the side of his head.  
  
"What? My talent?"  
  
"Nay, that's always been yers, and ye're welcome to it. He's no use for that. Tis something that everyone holds, ye more so than others." Farfarello looked at him now. "The two of ye, like all-seeing eyes. Crawford, the future, and Schuldig, that which lies in the darkest reaches of a man's heart, his mind, his soul. Ye see it all and don't give a damn about any of it."  
  
"Thoughts? Memories? Is that what you're talking about? Have I seen something that I wasn't supposed to?"  
  
"Do ye even care, telepath?" Farfarello looked away again, his eye drawn back to the crucifix. "A man is made up of his memories, and ye plunder 'em like they were gold, then toss 'em away like they're dross. But ye hold 'em still, all that makes up a man, scattered like rubbish across the floor of yer mind."  
  
Schuldig contemplated for a minute. "I guess I never thought of it that way."  
  
"He does." Farfarello got up, ignoring the blood that ran down from his knees. "He wants ye, to gain back that which was stolen. He needs 'em, ye see." Farfarello began to walk away.  
  
"Farfarello. What do you want?"  
  
Farfarello paused. "I? I'm just the remnant, the lost soul. Farfarello is the one out there. If ye wish to know what he wants, open the door and ask him."  
  
Schuldig took a quick breath in surprise. "Jei? You're Jei."  
  
"Aye, What's left of him, anyway." Jei disappeared into the shadows, and Schuldig knew then that he was truly alone now in the church. He heard a noise at the door.  
  
"Farfarello." The noise stopped at the sound of his name, but Schuldig didn't need his talent to know that the psychopath was still out there. Waiting. Waiting for his mouse to leave the hole so that he could pounce. "Wait out there until doomsday, you crazy bastard," Schuldig muttered. He sat down on one of the few intact pews and settled in to wait for morning.  
  
---- 

A/N:   
Thanks to Hisoka (#1 reviewer) and Triggerhappy (new reviewer! Love new faces) for their reviews. Another newcomer, LoneCayt—thanks for your informative critiques, it gave me good food for thought. As for my plans, all I can say is that there will be no yaoi here. Some ai at best, but no yaoi. I seem incapable of writing yaoi I find believable, much less post-worthy-.-;; Nony—'bout time you kicked into gear. I knew that you had the right stuff. E-san—I couldn't torment you so with a Nagi-centric chapter. I hope this chapter gives you what you crave. Barring anything untoward, chapter 12, 'Lost and Found,' will be out this weekend.


	13. Chapter 12: Lost and Found

**Chapter 12: Lost and Found**

* * *

Nagi woke up when he felt Jei gently paw his face. In the fitful moonlight filtering through the curtains, Jei's eyeshine and small outline were the only things he could see. He sat up and Jei scampered to the end of the bed, gave Nagi an imperious meow, then jumped off the bed. "What is it, Jei?" Nagi followed the kitten out of his room. No lights were on anywhere in the place, but the moonlight was enough for Nagi to see by. He followed Jei to the living room.  
  
Jei darted to the front door, then mewed again, this time questioningly. Nagi frowned at the door. It was wide open. Nagi looked at the hook by the door. Schuldig's keys were still there, so he couldn't have left. But why was the door open? Nagi closed and locked it, then went to find the telepath. Schuldig's bed was a wreck, with the sheets ripped off the bed and trailing on the floor. Nagi checked the rest of the apartment, but Schuldig was nowhere to be found.  
  
So where was Schuldig? Nagi felt a cold fear start to form like an ice storm in his belly. He didn't like this. He hurriedly threw a coat over his pajamas and raced out of the apartment. At the front entrance to the building, he paused, unsure of where to go. He turned left. He had to start somewhere. A gentle rain began to fall, obscuring the moon.  
  
----  
  
Ken jogged down the deserted path, enjoying the faint hint of day through the lessening drizzle. He loved running at this early hour. It was nearly dawn, and there was no one in the park. Or so he thought. He slowed as he approached the hunched figure sitting on the park bench. The man didn't look up as he came closer.  
  
Ken stopped in shock as he realized who it was. Mastermind! His hand instinctively tightened. If he only had his bugnuks! The telepath never looked up at him, still and quiet. Ken approached with caution. As he got closer, he had to suppress a shiver. The man on the bench was a far cry from the dynamic, demonic Schwarz member that he remembered.  
  
Mastermind sat there, blankly staring past his cut and bloodied bare feet to a point on the ground. If he hadn't been breathing, Ken would have thought he was dead or a well-constructed mannequin. The man wasn't wearing a jacket, not even a shirt, even though the morning hour was chilly enough that Ken could see his breath. Every once in a while, the redhead would shudder, but that was his only concession to the cold. His lips looked blue, though.  
  
Ken fidgeted, then cursed. To hell with him. The man didn't deserve any compassion. He was the enemy. He had a hand in Ouka's death, had tormented Omi. Aya hated him, and Ken suspected it wasn't just because he was a member of Schwarz, either. The man was evil. End of story. But he also looked... _defenseless _sitting there. At the very least cold.  
  
Ken sighed. He must be insane. But he wasn't like _him_. If he turned his back, he wouldn't be able to carry that distinction anymore. Ken shrugged out of his jacket, glad he had pulled one over his sweatshirt. When he draped it over the other man, the telepath flinched, but didn't say a word. "Yeah, you're welcome," Ken said sarcastically. He plopped down on the bench with a sigh. Now what?  
  
----  
  
Nagi could hear the sound of someone running through the park as he passed. Maybe it was Schuldig? He couldn't see through the trees, but it sounded like they were headed east. Nagi paralleled the runner's progress along the park's iron fence until the runner turned north. Nagi made a sound of frustration, then concentrated on the bars in front of him. The fence creaked, then bent to his will, making a gap wide enough for the slim youth to slip through.  
  
Nagi ran silently down the path, eventually getting to the one that the runner was using. The runner was too short and dark to be Schuldig. The runner stopped. Nagi watched without interest, wondering where he was going to look next. Then he looked over at what the runner had found. "Schuldig!"  
  
Ken leapt to his feet when the Schwarz kid suddenly appeared. He should have known where there was one, the rest was sure to be close. _Real good, Ken. Put yourself between two members of Schwarz, with no weapons, no backup. Real good._ The new arrival appeared uncertain of what to do. Of course. His teammate was at Ken's mercy. But Ken wasn't the kind of guy that took hostages, no matter how appealing the thought was.  
  
Ken backed away from the bench, getting out from between the two. "He's all yours, kid. I found him like this, so don't blame me. I can't do anything like that, anyway." Accusation crept into his tone. "That's your specialty, not mine."  
  
Nagi studied Schuldig worriedly. Schuldig still hadn't acknowledged his presence. How was he going to get Schuldig home? The blood dripping from Schuldig's feet was especially worrisome. "Weiß. We'll overlook this if you do something for me."  
  
"What's that?" Ken asked warily.  
  
"Help me carry him home."  
  
"Me! But aren't you ... you know..." Ken gestured vaguely.  
  
"I could carry him by myself, yes," Nagi replied. "But it would draw attention."  
  
Ken sighed. How did he get himself into these messes? They were right. Nice guys did finish last, because they were too busy helping everyone else in the race. "The rest of Schwarz isn't going to come after me?" Nagi shook his head. "Okay. You got a deal." _I must be crazy to trust this kid.  
_  
Ken grabbed Schuldig by the arm and with Nagi's help, got the taller man on his shoulder. Luckily, the redhead was lanky, so Ken didn't find him too heavy. The weight lifted until his burden was light as a feather. Ken looked over at the telekinetic, who gave him one last dark, enigmatic look before leading the way.  
  
Several blocks later, Ken found himself in front of an upscale apartment building. Nagi turned back to him. "I can take it from here," he said. "Everyone here usually wakes up later."  
  
"No early risers or kids on their way off to school, huh?" Ken asked.  
  
"No. I'm the youngest here."  
  
Ken shifted his weight from one foot to another. "I can wait down here if you want to get someone to help you."  
  
Nagi gave him another look. This time Ken was sure that he saw sadness flicker through those dark eyes. Then he was faced with impassivity once again. "Go," Nagi said. He didn't want to deal with Weiß. He just wanted to get Schuldig upstairs. "We never saw each other."  
  
"Good enough," Ken said warily. He jogged down the block, back for home. He'd better tell Manx about this. Then the memory of that brief look of sorrow made him pause. The kid looked so alone. Maybe he wasn't a threat. Maybe Schwarz was no more, and the kid was now looking out for his old teammate.  
  
If he told Kritiker, they would send Weiß to take care of Schwarz, especially since one of the members was currently incapacitated. He didn't know what had happened to the telepath, but he would eat his cleats if the man could read a billboard in his present condition, much less someone's mind. And that brief look of sorrow, of abandonment, that was real. Ken was sure it meant the kid was all alone, except for the quasi-company of the curiously cataleptic Mastermind.  
  
He would wait and see. If Schwarz threatened them, he had a place to start when he came to hunt them down. Maybe he'd tell Omi. Omi would be able to keep an eye on the situation, and he could be trusted to not be reactionary. Ken didn't care much for Mastermind, even though he did feel a small touch of pity for the man in his current state. Prodigy was a different matter.  
  
Ken didn't really have anything against the kid, never did. He never felt that the kid harbored any real malice towards them personally, he was just doing a job, like they did. If the kid had a chance to get away from that, that kind of opportunity was rare for their kind. Ken really didn't want to do anything that would quash that small chance. "Good luck, kid," he muttered as he jogged home.  
  
---- 

A/N:   
Thanks to Hisoka, LoneCayt and Yanagi-sen for the encouraging reviews. Gundam Wing and Weiss fans, check out Yanagi-sen's stories – there's lots of good stuff there, this writer's really prolific! I remember reading 'The Brad Who Stole Christmas' a few years back (didn't know who had written it at the time because one of my friends showed it to me), and having a good laugh.


	14. Chapter 13: Friendly Overtures Schwarz...

**Chapter 13: Friendly Overtures – Schwarz Concerto**

* * *

Schuldig opened his eyes to glaring sunlight filtering through the windows. Usually he hated mornings, hated sunlight waking him up, but today was a different matter. Like in a fairytale, the morning sun chased the bad things away. He relaxed into the softness of his bed. _I'm safe_, he thought.  
  
That fragile feeling of safety shattered when the bedroom door swung open. Schuldig yelped and shot off the bed, groping madly at the nightstand. Nagi's expression didn't change a hair when he came in to the business end of a handgun. Schuldig lowered the gun with a shaky laugh. "Nagi. Didn't expect you."  
  
"Obviously not." Nagi held up his tray and gave Schuldig a pointed look at the bed.  
  
Schuldig slid back between the sheets and fluffed up his pillows. "What did I do to deserve breakfast in bed, Nagi?"  
  
"Nothing. I called your boss, told him that you had the flu. He said he hopes you'll get to feeling better, and he'll see you on Monday." Nagi lifted a corner of the sheet to look at Schuldig's bandaged feet for a quick appraisal. "Stay off them, Schuldig, until they scab up." He dropped the sheet back into place.  
  
Schuldig grabbed the sheet and flipped it back to expose his bandaged feet. "_Mein Gott_, Nagi, what in the hell happened?" He stared in sick fascination at his feet.  
  
"I was hoping you could tell me." Nagi pulled up a chair to sit next to Schuldig's bedside.  
  
Schuldig buried his hands in his hair. "I don't know. I must have been sleepwalking."  
  
"Sleepwalking?" Now Nagi showed surprise. "You've never done that before."  
  
"I guess I wanted to try something new." To avoid having to say anything more for a few seconds, until he could get his thoughts in order, Schuldig picked up a triangle of toast and wolfed it down. It was slathered in marmalade, a preserve that made him think of Crawford. Crawford had loved marmalade, had it on toast every morning right before he read the paper.  
  
Schuldig fell to eating until the door, which had been left ajar, swung open again. He froze, his eyes wide. Nagi was taken aback by the fear he saw in Schuldig's face. Schuldig was fearless. What had happened to him? A white form leaped up onto the bed. Jei.  
  
The kitten mewed, then wound his way up the bed to sit and watch Schuldig eat. Nagi watched as Schuldig's expression went from fear to relief to intense annoyance. Schuldig had the habit of knocking the kitten unconscious every time it annoyed him, like a child switching a toy on or off. That had been happening more and more often nowadays.  
  
Nagi had gotten good at reading the signs. The redhead's brow would furrow just a bit, and his eyes would narrow as he tracked the kitten's movements. Right before he dropped the animal, his lips would purse, like he was about kiss someone. Nagi had privately taken to calling that 'the goodnight kiss.' Before Schuldig could deliver the coup de grâce, Nagi diverted him.  
  
"Is it because of the nightmares you've been having?"  
  
Schuldig started. "What?" His gaze swung to Nagi, the kitten forgotten. Jei took the opportunity to help himself to a piece of bacon and dart out the door with his ill-gotten prize. Schuldig didn't even notice.  
  
"The nightmares." Nagi sighed impatiently. "Don't tell me you thought I didn't know about them. You haven't gotten a good night's sleep in weeks."  
  
Schuldig put a hand over his eyes, then rubbed his face tiredly. "I had hoped you hadn't. Guess I should have known better, huh?" Nagi's silence was answer enough. Schuldig's shoulders sank, and he fell back to listlessly picking at his breakfast. "I don't think it'll happen again, Nagi."  
  
"I hope not," Nagi said, his face composed, but the snap in his tone betrayed his agitation. "It was a real pain to have to run all over Tokyo looking for you, then get you back home."  
  
Schuldig paused and gave Nagi a curious look. "How did you get me home, Nagi? Are there witnesses I need to take care of? Tell me now, so I can do it while the memory is still fresh and before it spreads too far out."  
  
Nagi stared down at his hands. Schuldig could see the gears turning in Nagi's head. He ferreted out the information, ignoring the pang of pain that echoed in his skull at the action. "What! Siberian knows we're here?" He put the tray aside and flung back the covers. "Why haven't you gotten us out of here, Nagi? _Scheisse_. They'll be here any—"  
  
"No, they won't," Nagi told him quietly. He didn't lift his gaze from his tightly interlocked fingers.  
  
"Why—" Schuldig gaped in shock at the next thought that ran through Nagi's head. "You talked to _Bombay_?! You think a friendly conversation over a—what is that? A _melon torte_ will be enough to make Omi—_Gott,_ you're thinking of him by his first name—is going to be enough—" Schuldig stopped dead at the next thought, wound down, collapsing on the bed. "You told Omi that we were no longer in Schwarz?"  
  
Nagi nodded. "It seemed right."  
  
"It seemed right? What part of that seemed right to you?"  
  
Omi said he wished that we could be friends, but because we worked for different—"  
  
"I got it, I got it," Schuldig said. "Because you're Schwarz and he's Weiß, it was impossible. And this is where you informed him that we are no longer Schwarz. Then he says, great, then we don't have a reason to fight anymore, and you believed him." He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe there's a grain of truth there. Then again, maybe Bombay is keeping quiet about us for his own reasons. 'Friends' aren't for people like us, Nagi."  
  
"But I thought we were supposed to be normal. Getting normal lives. Normal people have friends." Nagi sounded faintly petulant.  
  
"But we—But Bombay isn't. . . oh hell." Schuldig felt his headache, which had been steadily worsening as he used his talent, reach new levels. "Look, Nagi. Even if Omi did want to be friends, do you really think that he would go against Kritiker for you? That's what this is going to come down to, you know. Even if Siberian doesn't run home to tell his owners who he helped drag home, they will eventually find out, and then things will be well and truly screwed."  
  
"But if Omi tells them we're no threat—"  
  
"Don't be so damned naïve, kid! Do you think that Kritiker is going to believe you? Hell, I bet _Omi_ didn't believe you!"  
  
"Then what's the point, Schuldig?" Nagi asked, voice rising. "If we can't escape our past, why are we doing this, struggling with things we hate? My school, your job. What's the _point_? At least with Crawford, we knew what we were good for. Now look at us!" Nagi glared. "I wish I had stayed with Crawford!" With that, he stalked out of the room.  
  
Schuldig stared at the ceiling. "_Ja_. I do too," he told the empty room. Well, the kid did have a point. They were supposed to be trying to have normal lives. Normal people faced the risks of deception and betrayal with even fewer defenses than they had. True, normal people didn't have to deal with possible attacks by groups of assassins, but where a normal would be dead in that scenario, Nagi and Schuldig had a definite edge over the assassins.  
  
He rolled his eyes. What was he worried about? Nagi was right. He needed to try and make friends, learn what normal life was like. In that context, was Omi really that bad of a choice for a first attempt? Nagi wouldn't have to keep his past a secret from Omi. The two of them had similar interests, were close in age, maturity and intelligence.  
  
Besides, even if Bombay really did betray them, Nagi would at least learn a few things from the lesson. They could take care of anything that Kritiker could throw at them. Esset was another matter, but currently they didn't have to worry about them. As long as the organization was in disarray and they kept their heads down, they were low on the priority list.  
  
That is, assuming that Crawford had even told them that Nagi and Schuldig were no longer members of Schwarz. Schuldig thought about that. _Would_ Crawford do that? Would he keep silent? If Schuldig ever was tempted to call anyone a friend, it would be Crawford. Unlike Omi and Nagi, there were differences in age and maturity, and yes, even intelligence, much as Schuldig hated to admit it.  
  
But they always had enjoyed what Schuldig could only call a feeling of friendship, even closeness. They had joked around on the job, relaxed together, and on a few memorable occasions, gotten drunk together. They had complemented each other, dovetailing together into a seamless unit. Schwarz was a close-knit team. However, there always was a special unity between Crawford and Schuldig.  
  
Schuldig snorted when he realized where his thoughts had drifted. Who was he kidding? Crawford was business all the way. He could relax with Schuldig, but he would never put himself at risk for their sake. The minute they had left, Crawford had probably informed his superiors that Schuldig and Nagi were AWOL. It was just wishful dreaming to think otherwise.  
  
Schuldig shook his head, shaking loose his preoccupation with Crawford. He had more pressing things to worry about at the moment. He wasn't a man that tried to evaluate the future. That was Brad's job. But he did need to apply himself to matters at present. Like a sulking boy in the other room. He sent out a tendril of thought. _/Nagi./  
_  
_/Leave me alone./  
_  
_/I can't. My feet. I think you need to look at them./ _His feet felt fine, but Schuldig was never above using a half-truth when it suited him. They didn't hurt, but Nagi did need to look at them. He had dislodged some of the protective wrappings during the whole episode with Nagi.  
  
There was a long pause, then a silent confirmation. Schuldig hummed a half- remembered song as he waited for Nagi. He had learned a while back one of the best ways to get to Nagi was to make the boy feel that he was needed. Schuldig was sure that it was strongly tied in with the kid's abandonment issues. Whatever the cause, it gave him the leverage needed to get Nagi calmed down and back within talking range. Schuldig's head hurt too much for him to expend the energy in a mental conversation.  
  
Nagi entered, holding a new tray, this one with medical supplies. He wordlessly handed the new tray to Schuldig to hold and briefly left to whisk the old tray back to the kitchen. When he returned, he took the tray and got right to the business at hand. Nagi's face was expressionless as he examined the damage. However, Schuldig could sense the boy softening against his will at the sight of Schuldig's maimed feet.  
  
"How were you able to ignore this?" Nagi asked softly.  
  
Schuldig picked at the bed sheet. This was Nagi. He could tell him, even if he could tell no one else. "Nightmare. I dreamed I was being chased."  
  
Nagi stared at the redhead, but no more information was forthcoming. Schuldig would extend his version of an olive branch and explain how he allowed his feet to get that way, but he didn't feel the need to talk about the other things that had happened, the other dreams. When it was obvious that Schuldig wasn't going to tell him anything else, Nagi sighed softly and went back to his examination.  
  
Schuldig stared at the ceiling again. He didn't need to tell Nagi how much some of those dreams disturbed him, even frightened him. Schuldig also didn't tell the boy the thing that frightened him the most was that despite the damage he had done to his feet, he still didn't feel the pain.  
  
---- 

A/N:   
_Mein Gott_ – "My God" in German. _Scheisse_ – "shit" in German.   
LoneCayt - I'm with you, believe it or not. I can't imagine Crawford getting drunk (on a regular basis). I think that this binge kinda snuck up on him.   
Yanagi-sen – You're welcome. I feel bad for Nagi too (not that you can tell, from the things I write), as well as Schu. As for Ken, that's the way I see him—as a nice guy.   
Hisoka – The 'whys' of Schu's actions will all be explained later (hopefully).   
Swtjemz – Thanks for your sweet review. Encouragement always makes me happy.   
FungiFungusRayne – I thought that Schu would make a great HR director. I'd hate to work with him, tho. And your wish is my command. You'll see more Omi and Nagi soon.   
Nony – Heh. We'll discuss what you had to say later...


	15. Chapter 14: Friendly Overtures, Grey Int...

**Chapter 14: Friendly Overtures - Grey Interlude**

* * *

  
Omi looked up in surprise as Ken came in. He glanced at the clock. No, he hadn't lost track of time. Ken was back early from his run. Ken stopped at the sight of Omi. "Just the person I wanted to see. Got a minute?"  
  
Omi nodded his head. "Sure, Ken-kun." He picked up his tea and plate of _onigiri_ and followed Ken downstairs into the mission room.  
  
Ken didn't waste time getting to what was on his mind. "Omi, Schwarz is still alive. I just saw them this morning."  
  
Omi grew still. "Are you sure, Ken-kun?"  
  
"Positive. I even talked with them."  
  
"Did they make any moves to harm you?"  
  
Ken's brow wrinkled. "No. That's the strange part. Omi, I don't think we have to worry about them. The kid, Prodigy, looked so—alone. And Mastermind . . . I don't know what's wrong with him."  
  
"Wrong?" Omi's gaze sharpened.  
  
"Yeah. I came across him in the park. He was like a zombie. It was freaky." Ken paused, then grinned wryly. "Freakier than usual, for them anyway." He sobered. "The real reason I came to tell you this is because I know where they live."  
  
"How?"  
  
Ken fidgeted. "Well, I uh, kinda helped the kid get Mastermind home. But it was okay, I swear! The kid said that he didn't need to attract attention, and he needed help, so I couldn't just turn them away." Ken set his jaw. "Maybe Kritiker wouldn't like me helping 'em instead of trying to kill 'em, but if you could have seen—"  
  
"It's okay, Ken-kun. Kritiker doesn't have to know about any of this," Omi told Ken reassuringly. "And I know you too well, Ken-kun. I've always said you wouldn't leave your worst enemy in need of help. You just proved it today."  
  
"I hate to say it, but I was kinda hopin' that you would say that." Ken shuffled his feet. "I felt kinda sorry for the kid." He shrugged. "Maybe they need a break, you know?"  
  
"Maybe. Well, the two of us can keep an eye on the situation well enough, I think." Omi gave Ken a cheery smile. "Right, Ken-kun?"  
  
"Right. I'm off to hit the showers, then. I'll see you in twenty to help you open up." Ken jogged up the stairs. Omi watched him solemnly, then sighed.  
  
"Damn. Nagi, what's going on?" Omi nibbled his lower lip, worried. "I hope you aren't in anything that you can't handle."  
  
----  
  
"Mr. Crawford. Imagine seeing you here."  
  
Crawford turned around to face the other Esset agent. "Miss Polanski." What was Anna Polanski? A telepath? An empath? No, she was a pyrokinetic. Crawford relaxed. He could handle that well enough. "Did Esset send you to find me?"  
  
"No, just happened to be in the area." Polanski turned a curious blue gaze up to him. Her eyes were softened with a hint of grey, unlike the brilliant, sharp blue of Schuldig's. "So what are you here for?"  
  
"Freelance project. With Esset at loose ends, the bills still need to be paid." Polanski was perpetually running up gambling debts. She like betting on the ponies too much. If anything would lull her suspicions, it would be talk of owing someone.  
  
"Erickssen told me you were going to be here and suggested I look you up for dinner." She glanced at him coyly from under her lashes.  
  
Crawford wasn't fooled. _I just bet he did._ With Erickssen, he didn't 'suggest' anything. Nosy old fox. And to use a pretty girl like Anna as bait. He looked at the girl. She was only a year or two younger than him, but she was relatively new to Esset, a late bloomer in her talents. Her parents had both been good agents, so they had kept her at Rosenkreuz until she had blossomed. But she was behind all her peers in life experience as a result. Life experience, and the politics involved in dealing with Esset.  
  
Pity. He wouldn't have minded spending time with a pretty girl like Polanski. Not with Erickssen as a invisible third party, though. He didn't want Esset to know that Schwarz wasn't intact. But why? Why was he still unable to let go, to cut his losses? The longer he kept the information from Esset, the worse it was going to be on him when they did find out that Farfarello was dead and Schuldig and Nagi had defected. He found he just couldn't bring himself to tell, though. "Sorry, I'm short on time."  
  
Polanski laughed lightly. "Of course. Business before pleasure."  
  
"Unfortunately."  
  
Polanski looked around. "Where's the rest of your team?"  
  
"Back in Tokyo," Crawford told her. "This project didn't need more than one person to handle it." That was true. He had been the only person needed. Mr. Edward Sonett had needed his foresight, nothing else. Now that he was done, Mr. Sonett could be the one to take care of his potential problems.  
  
Crawford stiffened slightly when the vision hit. _Feral eyes. There was something feral yet desperate in those eyes, thought the smirk stayed the same. It was wrong. Madness. _Over the years, Crawford had perfected schooling his expression from giving away anything about the vision. This time, Crawford couldn't help being taken aback by what he saw. "Schuldig," he breathed.  
  
"What?"  
  
Crawford was snapped back to the present. The vision! It was gone. "Damn it, woman! Didn't they ever tell you not to disturb a pre-cog during a vision?" Normally Crawford would have been able to block out Anna, but he had lost control, something that hadn't happened since he first came to Rosenkreuz. The vision had unsettled him, making it easy to break out of. The fault was more his than hers. However, she didn't need to know that. Besides, he didn't want to deal with her right now. _Couldn't_ deal with her right now. He had to go back to Tokyo.  
  
---- 

A/N:   
onigiri – the Japanese word for rice packed into balls. My favorite are wrapped in seaweed. In the manga, an Assassin and White Shaman, Omi makes them for Ken and Aya. Ken presents them to Aya as a peace offering. Let's just say that Ken didn't start out the relationship between the two of them on a friendly note, so the offering was necessary.


	16. Chapter 15: Friendly Overtures, Second ...

**Chapter 15: Friendly Overtures – Second Movement

* * *

**

"Nagi-kun! Good to see you again."

Nagi hooked his book bag on the back of the chair across from Omi. "Good to see you too," he said politely. He still wasn't sure if he meant it or not. "You wanted to see me? Green tea, please," he told the waitress when she appeared.

"And two—" Omi gave Nagi a glance, and Nagi nodded—"melon tortes, please. With a vanilla chai."

When the perky girl went to put in the order, Omi leaned forward. "I called because Ken told me that he saw the two of you the other morning. Don't worry, he didn't tell anyone else, and we both agreed to keep it between the two of us. Is everything all right? He said that Mastermind looked—ill."

"Schuldig. His name is Schuldig." Nagi looked out over the café. "I... I don't know what's wrong with Schu."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Omi smiled gently at Nagi's look of surprise. "I know that in the past, Schuldig has never given me reason to want to help him. Quite the opposite, actually. But I'll help him, if it will help you."

"In exchange for what?" Nagi asked.

Now Omi looked surprised. "I just want to help, that's all. In exchange for nothing, I guess. No, that's not right. How about for friendship?"

"For friendship? I thought that you said we were already friends."

"Well, we are. Friends help each other. That's part of what friendship is about. Trusting other people to give you a hand when you need it. In return," Omi told him, "you help out your friends when they need it." He paused. "But only if you want to. Friendship is about _wanting_ to help. Otherwise, it's just a trade of favors between strangers."

"I see." Nagi looked into the tea cup that the waitress placed in front of him. The clear green-gold depths told him nothing.

"I wonder," Omi said. "You don't know much about friendship, do you? What about Schwarz?"

"Schwarz was my team. They understood me."

"That's friendship too," Omi beamed at Nagi.

Nagi thought about Crawford. Crawford? A friend? Schuldig, back during Schwarz, had little to do with him, unless it was to tease or pick on him. But maybe they were becoming friends now. "I guess so."

"So, is there anything I can do for you? Does he need medical attention? Are the two of you in some sort of trouble?"

"No, not exactly," Nagi told his teacup. He wanted Omi to help him. This was bigger than he could deal with. Nagi was sure that the nightmares were a symptom of a greater underlying problem, but what? Schuldig wasn't all right. The nightmares and odd behavior were escalating, meaning that Schuldig needed help. Unfortunately, Omi couldn't provide it. "I wish that you could help. But I'm afraid you can't."

"Why not?"

"Schuldig is sick mentally, I think. The only people that could help him is at Rosenkreuz." Nagi shuddered. Hewas sure thatSchuldig would rather die than go back to that place. He knew because all who survived it felt that way. He certainly did. "Maybe Crawford." If anyone could help them outside of Rosenkreuz, it was Crawford. He always knew what to do. "But I don't know where Crawford is. Schuldig said he was gone. He didn't say where. I don't think he knows where."

"I see," Omi said gravely. "Is Mas—err, Schuldig—sick because of his, umm, talent?"

"I think so. Maybe." Nagi's gaze remained on the cup in front of him.

"And you think that Kritiker couldn't provide the help he needs?"

Nagi smiled a little and finally met Omi's eye. "No. Even if they could, I don't think that Schu would agree. He wouldn't trust them enough. And if he won't agree to it, he would cause nothing but chaos. Crawfordsometimes callsSchuldig a demon. He can be, when he wants to be. I've always thought he was like Loki, in Norse myth. A trickster, a troublemaker."

"He trusts Crawford?"

"Yes. I think Crawford is the only one he trusts. Crawford always has been able to take care of things. He was the one that was able to rein in Farfarello, to channel a troublemaker like Schu, to harness their chaos to a cause. Crawford would know what to do." Nagi's conviction was all the stronger for the surety in that soft voice. He didn't need zeal to illustrate his faith in the Oracle.

Omi was silent for a moment. "And you can't reach Crawford?"

Nagi wrapped his hands around his cup and shook his head. Omi tapped a finger against the table. "Well, I wish I could help you. Maybe you can find some way to convince Schuldig."

"Maybe," Nagi said. He didn't sound confident in the possibility.

Omi looked at the other boy over his hot chai. If Crawford was the only one that could help Nagi, then Omi would find Crawford for them. If he could. No, if Kritiker could. He was Persia now. It was time he got used to that idea and started using the resources at hand. He needed to start thinking past Bombay and Weiß, to the bigger picture. Starting here. Maybe with Nagi.

"My grandfather was the first Persia.(1) I'll be the third one." Omi stopped. "Help me, Nagi-kun."

"I thought it would come to this." Nagi said it without bitterness or accusation, only resignation.

"I'm asking you to help as Persia, Nagi-kun. If you refuse, it would be between you and Persia, not Omi and you."

Nagi's face remained expressionless, but puzzlement was apparent in his tone. "Omi and Persia are one and the same."

"Not so," Omi insisted. "Mamoru Takatori is the name I was born with. To my friends and to me, I'm Omi. When I worked at the flower shop, Bombay wasn't the one to sell flowers. Omi was. Now, when I give Weiß orders, Persia does it. But Omi is the one that meets them for coffee, goes to games with them, and visits them when they are injured or ill."

"I see," Nagi said. He thought of Schuldig. The telepath would understand this better than he could, but he thought that he had the general idea. "So if I refuse, Omi will still wish to be . . . my friend?"

"Of course."

To Nagi, there was no 'of course' about it. "May I have some time to think about this?"

"Certainly."

Nagi rose to go.

"Where are you going?"

Nagi turned back, confused. "Our business is concluded, isn't it?"

"Yes, but the torte hasn't arrived yet."

Nagi's confusion deepened. "But . . ." he couldn't think of what to say.

"Come on, it's the best part."

Nagi sat back down. This friendship thing will take some getting used to, but it seemed—nice. He then knew that he would be saying yes to Persia's offer sometime in the future. He had to figure out what to do about Schuldig first.

-

A/N:  
(1) I read somewhere that there was another Persia before Shuiichi. So that would make Omi the third Persia when he becomes Persia in Glühen. I might be wrong—I also heard there were more than two Persias, making Omi 4 or 5.  
Thanks to Hisoka (I thought Schu was lucky to have Nagi around, as well), Yanagi-sen (You're right. We always hurt most the ones we love. Schu's one of my favorites. Can't you tell?), FungiFungusRayne (I hope you enjoyed the extra Omi/Nagi goodness), and LoneCayt (my sympathy is with Schu too, not that you can tell from my writing). I debated on whether or not I could carve out some time from packing to get these two chapters out— your kind reviews tipped the balance. I'm not going to be able to post for at least a week, possibly more. After we move, we've got friends coming to visit, so I won't have time, really. But I will post the next chapter before the month is out.


	17. Chapter 16: Drinks and Suffering

**Chapter 16: Drinks and Suffering**

* * *

  
"Hey Aya. Look at what the cat dragged in."  
  
Aya didn't even look around. "Don't even _mention _cats to me right now." He was pissed off at Manx, at Persia, at Kritiker. The mission they had just completed had been an utter farce. If Yohji and Aya hadn't been as good as they were, they might not have been able to pull it off. Kritiker was pulling itself back together after the death of Shuiichi Takatori, but it still had some ragged spots.  
  
The mission had been worse on Yohji. He had been forced to kill the man's wife when she had come home unexpectedly. Yohji knew what he had to do as a member of Weiß, but that didn't mean that he had to enjoy it. Aya snorted. Yohji had to get over his hang-up about killing women. He was an absolute beast to deal with for days after. Spoiling for a fight, more obnoxious than usual—his train of thought was broken by Yohji kicking him under the table.  
  
Aya rubbed his shin and glared death at Yohji. Yohji didn't pay the glare any mind. The playboy's hair was tousled, his eyes half-lidded. He was well on his way to completely glassy-eyed, staggering drunk. Aya tried to count the empty bottles in front of Yohji. He got to five beer bottles and a bottle of sake before he was kicked again. This time Aya snarled as well as glared. "Quit kicking me."  
  
"Ayaaaa, look," Yohji said, pointing to the bar. Aya swung his head around, unaware that he looked like an owl as he stared around the bar. His eyes narrowed when he saw who Yohji was indicating.  
  
"Don't worry about him. He's not bothering us, I'm not going to bother him first." With that Aya nodded firmly and poured himself a cup of sake.  
  
"Aya, that's mine," Yohji whined crossly.  
  
"You don't need any more."  
  
Yohji pouted for a moment and looked around the bar, then spotted Schuldig again. "Aya, we could take him easily. He's by himself." Yohji's half-lidded eyes took on a predatory gleam. "I still owe him from the last go around."  
  
"No." Aya's voice brooked no argument.  
  
"No?" Yohji swung his head back around and stared at his drinking companion blearily. "Whaddya mean, no?" He waved a hand at Schuldig. "Look at him! He still hasn't realized we're here. He's lost in his own little world over there." Yohji's voice dropped to a lethal purr. "It would be so easy, and we'd never have to worry about him ever again."  
  
Aya looked at Yohji over his purloined sake. At times like this, he wondered just how much Yohji liked his work. Ken was volatile at times, so they monitored him, made sure the killing didn't get to be too much for him. Omi looked at it as what needed to be done and was probably the stablest of the four. He had been raised with it too, though.  
  
Yohji, however, had always been the cipher. He was a man with buried passions, not an objective killer like Omi or a crusader like Ken. Yet he had pride in his work, with a streak of white knight more well-hidden than Ken's. But this white knight sometimes smiled thinly at his prey and played with his targets. Maybe Ken wasn't the one they should have been watching all this time.  
  
"We're not wanton killers, Yohji, no matter how much they might deserve it."  
  
"Do you really think Kritiker is going to say anything if we do kill him? They'll probably give us a bonus and their heartfelt gratitude." Yohji snatched back the sake and took a swig straight from the bottle, ignoring Aya's glower.  
  
"I don't doubt it. The answer's still no, Yohji. Leave him to his fate." Aya finished his cup. "I'm getting satisfaction watching the tormentor being tormented. And I didn't have to do a thing."  
  
Yohji stared at Aya with glittering eyes, like a jaguar sizing up an opponent. When he saw Aya wasn't going to budge, he relaxed, slipping easily back behind the mask. "Na, Aya. You're no fun." He turned sly. "Hey, Aya. I know why Omi and Ken hate him. What's your reason? What's he done to you?"  
  
Aya stalled. "What makes you think he's done anything to me?"  
  
"Because you don't 'get satisfaction' out of anything unless it's personal."  
  
"Hn." Aya traced patterns in some spilled sake. "You're right. It is personal. Mastermind told me that he was one of the ones who set my house up to explode. He killed my parents and injured my sister."(1)  
  
"Jesus, Aya. I didn't know. How can you even stand to look at him? Why didn't you try to gut him along with Reiji Takatori?"  
  
Aya stared at the oblivious telepath sitting at the bar. "Because Reiji Takatori was the one behind it all. Mastermind may have been the one to set the bombs, but Takatori was the one that ordered him to do it. He was the one that deserved my hate. That doesn't mean that I like that German fiend much better."  
  
The two men were silent for awhile, drinking and thinking their own thoughts. Yohji finally stood up and stretched. "I'm done. If I drink anymore, I won't be able to give the cab driver directions." He gathered up his coat. Yohji's green eyes narrowed as he watched Schuldig for a moment. "Are you going to be okay, Aya?"  
  
"I'll be fine. Good night."  
  
Yohji hesitated, then shook his head and left. Aya switched to Kirin beer. He wanted to stay a bit longer yet. He made up his mind that he would leave when the telepath did. Mastermind almost outlasted him. Aya was reluctantly impressed by the man's tolerance levels. He even was capable of walking in a straight line, something that Aya knew he wouldn't have been able to do after drinking as much as the German had.  
  
When he ducked out into the night, Aya did the same. He wondered how long it would be before the telepath noticed him, acknowledged him. Mastermind walked the early morning streets, head down, his pace steady but aimless. To Aya's surprise, three thugs jumped out of the shadows and accosted the telepath.  
  
Aya expected Mastermind to slaughter the three, smirking as he did so. But the telepath seemed startled and confused by the turn of events and didn't put up the fight that Aya knew he was capable of. Before he thought it through, Aya found himself fighting off the attackers himself. When Aya had chased off the last one, the two rivals stared each other down. "Weiß," Mastermind said. His smirk was the ghost of the one that Aya remembered.  
  
Mastermind got to his feet, cradling his side. He looked worn and brittle, a man that had ridden the edge so long he didn't know what it felt like to be on solid ground anymore. "Why?" He asked, sounding like he didn't care to hear the answer, asking because it was expected of him.  
  
"Aren't you going to read my mind, telepath?" Aya taunted. He didn't care if the man read the reason or not.  
  
Schuldig mutely turned his head away. For brief moment, Aya felt pity for him. He looked frail, defeated. The emotion disappeared quickly. Aya stared at his enemy for a moment, then said, "Because you haven't suffered enough yet." With that, he left the telepath and went home.  
  
----  
  
Nagi sat up and listened intently in the silence that followed the crash that had woken him up. What was that? The silence told him nothing. He slid out of bed and crept among the shadows out into the hall. A low murmur could be heard coming from the living room. As he got closer, he identified the cause of the noise and relaxed. Schuldig.  
  
He found Schuldig in the living room, the contents of a medicine box strewn across the glass-topped table in front of him. Schuldig had his back to him, but Nagi could see that he was holding his side gingerly. That was a bad sign. Ever since Schuldig had injured them in the fall of Esset's temple, those ribs never had been right. A lot about Schuldig hadn't been right since then.  
  
He could stop the gasp that escaped him when he came around and saw the shape Schuldig was in. Blood dripped down his chin from a split lip and a cut on his cheek. His clothes were torn, disheveled, slashed by a knife and stained with blood. He looked almost as bad as when Reiji Takatori had beaten him with that golf club. Schuldig started when Nagi's shadow fell over him.  
  
Nagi felt a stab of pity and horror at the sight of Schuldig so broken. He looked whipped, finished. "Who did this to you?"  
  
Even Schuldig's laugh sounded broken. "Does it matter? Don't I deserve it? I AM guilty, after all." He wrapped his arms around himself protectively and stared at the floor. "I deserve it. I haven't suffered enough." He laughed again, his laughter sounding almost like sobbing. His head dropped after the outburst and he mumbled, "When will I have suffered enough?"  
  
Nagi didn't know what to say to that, so he settled for tending to Schuldig's injuries instead. Schuldig sat passively and let Nagi fuss over him, not even flinching when Nagi put a couple of sutures into his shoulder to hold a particularly nasty cut closed. He was lost in his own thoughts of his lot and muttering about the suffering he owed. Nagi continued to patch him up, but his jaw got tighter and tighter with every word that Schuldig uttered to himself.  
  
Nagi wasn't even sure if Schuldig even knew he was there. "Farfarello was wrong," he finally burst out. Schuldig started again, then blinked at him vacantly. "We can't be normal, can we, Schu? But he was right, too."  
  
Nagi took courage from Schuldig's sudden silence to struggle with thoughts that had occupied him for weeks now, to try and put them into words. "We can't be normal. But we needed to get away from what Schwarz used to be. Farf is dead. We can't be _that _Schwarz anymore." He picked up a bandage and began to roll it into a neat bundle. "We had to find what came next, didn't we, Schu? _That's _what Farf wanted."  
  
He lifted a shoulder and dropped it again, never raising his eyes from the bandage he was rolling. "I don't know about what we deserve. I don't think much about suffering. I know that it exists. I've known more of it than I would like and lived through it. Whether we deserve it isn't relevant. That we can survive it and what we do about it is." He secured the end and dropped it into the box, then pulled out a packet of sleeping pills and handed Schuldig one. "Take it. You need to sleep so you can heal up."  
  
A shadow of Schuldig's trademark smirk surfaced, tinged with ruefulness and admiration. "When did you grow up, Nagi?"  
  
"I've always been mature for my age," Nagi replied seriously.  
  
"Not grown up, though. You've grown while I wasn't looking, _chibi_." He smiled, the small, crooked, awkward, yet real one that Nagi hardly ever saw. Nagi let him leave for his bedroom as he put away the mess of medical supplies in front of him. Had he grown up? Did that mean that he had been a child?  
  
With further thought, he realized that he might have been mature and self- sufficient, but that hadn't made him an adult. He had started the process of growing into his own skin when he had left Crawford's care. Crawford's care? Nagi smiled a little. He hadn't realized it at the time, but Crawford had taken care of him. Imagine that. He had never pictured Crawford as the paternal type, but he had fulfilled that role for Nagi, and the two hadn't even realized it.  
  
Farf was more right than he had realized. Or maybe he had. The Irishman had moments of uncanny astuteness that always took him by surprise. Whether or not Farfarello had seen the way of things, it was only when he had left that he had seen what Crawford was. He never would be able to tell Crawford that. It would horrify and confuse the pre-cog. Was that why Farf gotten that promise from Schuldig? To allow Nagi to 'leave the nest,' a nest he hadn't even been aware he had been in?  
  
If that was so, where did Schuldig fit in? Why make him promise to go, too? Schuldig. Nagi's small smile disappeared to be replaced by a worried frown. Schuldig was so fragile nowadays. The separation that was clarifying things for Nagi was weakening Schuldig. So why did he have to leave? Schuldig didn't see Crawford as a father figure. He had been an equal, like Nagi was striving to become. He hadn't needed to make his own path, out from under a paternal wing.  
  
Schuldig had made his path at Crawford's side. Schuldig had built Schwarz alongside Crawford. They could never have a Schwarz without Schuldig. He was as integral as Crawford, as Nagi, as Farfarello. Nagi saw now that Farfarello would always be a part of Schwarz, because he had lived and died as Schwarz, and lived on as long as there was a Schwarz member to remember him.  
  
Schwarz, whether they had intended to or not, had become a family. An undemonstrative and rather ruthless family, but the bonds were undeniable, now that Nagi had the distance and growing maturity to see it. Even though they were all separated, whether by distance or death, Nagi still felt like a part of Schwarz. He might be making his own way now, but all children needed to. That didn't mean that they couldn't return to their parents, hopefully on a more equal footing, later.  
  
Farfarello's death hadn't broken Schwarz. It merely had triggered changes that were working on Nagi, day by day. The changes were bigger than just Nagi, though. Nagi could feel it, like a wind against his back. Nagi didn't know what it was, but something about this held the imprint of something bigger, something that smelled suspiciously of fate. If he hadn't know that Crawford had been against it, he would have thought that it was Crawford's handiwork. So what was the reason?  
  
Nagi didn't know, but he could not shake the belief that there was one, a reason for their current path that he couldn't see yet but would be revealed in time. All they could do was wait for it to be revealed.  
  
---- 

A/N:   
(1)In the manga, Assassin and White Shaman, Schuldig was indeed one of the ones that blew up poor Ran's house.   
chibi – "kid" in Japanese.   
Thanks to Lyra Stormrider-- I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Your thorough explanation on the 'Which Persia is Omi?' matter was very much appreciated. The more detail I can have, the better! Now it makes me wonder about Persia #3. . .  
FungiFungusRayne-- no, thank you!  
Lonecayt-- glad you see Nagi the same way I do, as someone that wouldn't have a lot of ease in social interactions. Wish I could have said the break was nice, but it's behind me now. For the most part.  
Hisoka-- I'm not too fond of the woman myself. . .  
Yanagi-sen-- wait no more, here's the next chapter. I think that the Omi/Nagi dynamic is cute, too. Thanks for being so understanding.  
TrenchcoatMan-- Thank you. I try to stay canon, but so much of it is open for interpretation.  
Nony-- You're a nut. But I love you anyway. 'Run Schu, run,' indeed. You _are_ taking entirely too much pleasure in Schu's distress. So evil. But I guess I'm evil for writing it in the first place; And warning noted.


	18. Chapter 17: Drowning in Memory

**Chapter 17: Drowning in Memory**

* * *

fearless Wretch   
insanity   
He watches   
lurking beneath the sea   
timeless sleep   
has been upset   
He awakens   
Hunter of the Shadows is rising   
immortal   
in madness You dwell  
  
Not dead which eternal lie   
stranger eons Death may die  
  
drain you of your sanity   
face The Thing That Should Not Be  
**-Metallica, 'The Thing That Should Not Be'  
**  
The moon was a sliver of silver, a scythe that cut into the black sky. Clouds were out tonight, grey veils that obscured the stars, the moon. Schuldig pounded on the door to the cathedral on the hill. He could hear the sounds of his fists striking the wood echo within, but he couldn't hear the ring of footsteps coming to answer. The forest pressed around him. It was too dark tonight to run through it, but Schuldig knew that soon he was going to have to try.  
  
With a bitter curse, he turned away from the door. He had to go. Now. He ran past the windows pouring their golden light on the black ground outside. He had gotten past the cathedral's light when he heard the hunter, a second set of running steps that mirrored and mocked his own. He ran towards the small church. Where was it? Why couldn't he find it? He looked for a dim light through the darkness and saw nothing but shadows and trees.  
  
His foot caught on a root buried in the rotting leaves. He stumbled, then fell, only to sink into water. The taste of brine filled his mouth, his nose. A silver-haired child, laughing with a kindly nun. That same child, playing with a younger girl. The child again, kneeling in a church, saying his prayers. Now reading a bible. Singing in the choir. Listening to the nun tell stories. The scene darkened. The child, with blood on his hands. Blood. Blood. So much blood. The world had gone dark with it. He could taste it, was drinking it.  
  
He felt strong arms wrap around him. Unraveling bandages floated around him. A pale scarred hand gently stroked his face, over his eyes, forcing him to close them. "Sleep, Schuldig. Leave yer cares t' me. I'll take care of everythin'."  
  
----  
  
Omi cursed alcohol and hangovers. Both Aya and Yohji were hung over this morning, so he had been forced to open the shop on his own. He didn't feel right asking Ken to help because Ken was scheduled to close. Luckily, it was a quiet morning. He had only had two customers since he had opened, and it was nearing noon now. He decided to treat himself to a leisurely lunch. He had a taste for something Italian. Antonio's or Provenza's? Antonio's. He hadn't had their _pollo firenze_ in weeks. And the tiramisu! Omi locked up, put out the 'gone to lunch' sign, and left.  
  
The restaurant hostess smiled when Omi came in. "Tsukiyono-san, this way please."  
  
"What? Who, me?" Omi pointed at himself. He had come here on a whim. He hadn't made any reservations.  
  
The hostess smiled and nodded. "Yes. I was told to seat you right away. Your associate is waiting. This way please." Omi tensed. What was going on? He followed the woman. If he wanted to find out all the parameters of the problem, he had to gather the information. It all became clear when he saw who was at the table. "Crawford-san."  
  
Crawford pushed his glasses further up on his face. "Thank you, Mariko. Please have a seat, Mr. Tsukiyono."  
  
"If I don't?"  
  
"Why wouldn't you? You've been looking for me, have you not?" Crawford took off his glasses and began to polish them with one of the linen napkins. As he looked down on his task, he looked younger to Omi, more approachable. Omi gingerly slid into the seat opposite of the Oracle.  
  
"Yes, I have," he cautiously replied.  
  
"Well, you've found me. Or more appropriately, I found you." Crawford looked up at Omi. Even without his glasses, Omi had no doubt that Crawford could see him quite well. That gaze was too direct for it to be otherwise. "I know why too, so let's cut to the chase. You can put me in contact with Nagi."  
  
Omi didn't like sitting here talking to an unknown factor like Crawford, but he had been looking for the man for Nagi's sake. "Yes. I only have a cell phone number though." He had Nagi's apartment building too, courtesy of Ken, but he didn't want to tell Crawford that. Crawford could talk to Nagi over the phone, and Nagi could then decide how he wanted to meet the American.  
  
Crawford slid his glasses back into place, pushing them up with his index finger. "That'll do. The number please."  
  
Omi scribbled the number on a piece of paper and slid it across the table to Crawford. Crawford picked up the folded paper and tucked it into his inner jacket pocket. He rose as the waiter approached. "Thank you, Mr. Tsukiyono. Lunch is on me." With that, he left. The waiter placed a plate of _pollo firenze_ in front of Omi.  
  
Omi stared at the plate. How did Crawford know? He shook his head. Dealing with Schwarz was a strange business.  
  
----  
  
Nagi rode the elevator up to his floor. He was worried about Schuldig. Nagi had called the school to tell them he had to take care of a sick relative. It wasn't far from the truth. When he was certain that Schuldig had finally fell asleep, Nagi had gone out to get more bandages. They were nearly out, and if Schuldig was going to keep getting hurt like this, they needed to stock up.  
  
He opened the door and dropped the bandages in shock. Schuldig didn't look up from what he was doing as he sliced more lines into his arms, his torso. He was striped with blood and the floor was blotched with it. "Schuldig!" Schuldig continued to ignore him as he hummed to himself. The tune was familiar. It was one that Farfarello used to hum while he worked sometimes.  
  
Things felt surreal for Nagi, but he couldn't figure out how or why they had happened. It was like Farfarello was back. Schuldig stopped and looked up with one eye. The other was hidden by a curtain of hair. "Nagi." He tilted his head in a disturbingly familiar way. It was one of Farfarello's mannerisms.  
  
Nagi gathered himself. He didn't know what was going on, but he had to do something. Schuldig was bleeding all over. In the end, he found an old straitjacket of Farfarello's that had been buried at the bottom of one of his suitcases and used it to restrain Schuldig. The telepath didn't even blink as Nagi tightened the straps. Nagi led him to the empty bedroom, the one that Schuldig had insisted on but had never explained why.  
  
Had Schuldig had another use in mind, or had he known subconsciously that the empty room would be needed? Nagi didn't want to think about that. That would mean that Schuldig had been worse off than he had thought for much longer than he had thought. If only Crawford were here. Nagi didn't know what to do now. He couldn't let Schuldig go to work, walk the streets. He also couldn't leave Schuldig alone for too long, either. Not if he was like Farfarello now.  
  
In the silence of the apartment, Nagi cleaned the floors of Schuldig's blood. He was just emptying out the second bucket when his cell phone rang, making him jump and drop the bucket. Bloody water splashed him, making his skin crawl. He raced over to his book bag and pulled out his phone. "_Moshi moshi_."  
  
"Naoe."  
  
At the sound of that familiar, self-assured voice, Nagi sat down hard on the floor and clutched the tiny phone like it was a lifeline. "Crawford."  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
Nagi let himself wilt with relief as he gave Crawford directions to the apartment. When he hung up, he felt his worries lift and dissipate. Crawford would know what to do. Jei crawled into his lap. Nagi picked up the kitten and cradled it in his arms. "It's finally going to be okay, Jei," he told the kitten softly. "Crawford will take care of it." The kitten stared at him for a moment, gold eyes flat and impenetrable, then it turned to join Nagi in watching the door. Nagi's eyes held a glimmer of hope; Jei's remained unreadable yet fixed as they waited for Crawford to arrive.  
  
----  
  
When Nagi answered the door, Crawford's first thought was that Nagi hadn't changed much. He wore a black school uniform rather than a grey one, but he looked pretty much the same as the last time Crawford had seen him. Then he spotted the white kitten in Nagi's arms. The animal looked vaguely familiar. It stared at him with an intent, inscrutable gaze. Crawford didn't like the kitten's unblinking stare but didn't make any comment about Nagi's new pet.  
  
"Naoe. Where's Schuldig?"  
  
Nagi silently led Crawford to a bedroom and unlocked it, revealing the single thing in the barren room: the slumped figure of Schuldig, wrapped in a blood-stained white straitjacket. Crawford knelt on one knee next to Schuldig, eye to eye with him. Nagi stood watching his former leader from the doorway, the white kitten held in his arms. Schuldig turned his head to see who was so close to him. There was something feral yet desperate in those eyes, thought the smirk stayed the same. It was wrong. Madness.  
  
Crawford stood up, defeat a tangible bitterness in his mouth. Failure. He was too late. What he had seen, he hadn't been able to prevent. He turned away. Nagi looked at him hopefully, an expression that unsettled Crawford almost as much as the look in Schuldig's eyes. He had never seen such an expression on Nagi's face. He took the young boy by the shoulder and led him out of the room.  
  
He sighed softly and took off his glasses so he could massage his eyes, the bridge of his nose. "We're going to have to send him to Rosenkreuz. They're the only ones who could possibly be able to deal with a telepathic psychotic."  
  
"No."  
  
Crawford lowered his hand to look at Nagi. "No? What do you mean by that?"  
  
Nagi looked away and nibbled on his lower lip. But his voice stayed steady. "No. We can't send Schuldig back there. He'd rather die than go back."  
  
"But we have no choice, Nagi." Crawford gentled his voice. "Surely you can see that. What else can we do for him?"  
  
"Please, Crawford. Not Rosenkreuz."  
  
"We have no other alternative."  
  
"No!" The floor vibrated, then everything stilled. Both Crawford and Nagi were taken aback by the reaction. Alarmed, Jei jumped out of Nagi's arms and disappeared. Nagi raised beseeching eyes to Crawford. "Just talk to him, please. I know that you can talk to him, like you did Farfarello."  
  
"Farfarello was a different matter." Crawford couldn't confess to Nagi that he had lied to Farfarello at times, manipulated him. There was no way he was going to be able to do the same to a telepath. Nagi's look didn't change. Crawford was touched by the boy's faith in him. He found himself giving in. "All right. I'll try. But I can't guarantee anything. He's probably still going to have to go to Rosenkreuz anyway."  
  
Nagi nodded mutely. Crawford sighed. How did he get into this situation? This was pointless. Yet it wouldn't hurt to go in and talk to Schuldig. Maybe it'll give him a clue what had happened. He went in to face insanity again.  
  
---- 

A/N:   
pollo firenze – An Italian dish made with a chicken breast stuffed with different cheeses and spinach.   
Moshi moshi – Common Japanese phone greeting.  
  
LoneCayt—sorry if it seems I'm picking on Aya. But I just can't see him as the 'forgive and forget' type, you know? It worked well for the story, too.   
Hisoka—I like the friendship that is developing there, too. As for drunk and bloodthirsty Yohji, I find him scary, too.   
Kouyasufan—thanks for the info on Persia #3. Info is always good, in my book. Also thanks for seconding my assessment for how Aya would handle that. Nice to know that I'm not completely out in left field. Even if it did make me want to bonk him in the head for saying that.   
Yanagi-sen—another person that likes to see the softer side to Schwarz. I like those glimpses, too.   
FungiFungusRayne—No need to apologize! A Nagi-bird would be cute.   
TrenchcoatMan—thanks for the review. About what's ultimately going to happen to Nagi, well, we'll see. I'm wrapping 'Opening Doors' up now, and just started roughing out the next part of this arc. I'll post after I put the last touches on the last few chapters and check for errors. As for the translations of the manga, this site has them: www. kekkai. org/wkcorner/ Just take out the spaces. Darn FFNet drops the link if I don't put them in

---- 


	19. Chapter 18: Who is in the Abyss?

**Chapter 18: Who is in the Abyss?**

* * *

  
He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.  
**Friedrich Nietzsche  
----  
**  
"Miss me, Crawford?" The voice was Schuldig's, but something about it was not his, yet equally as familiar. The cadence, the tone, was Farfarello's. Crawford suddenly remembered something. Something on Farfarello's file. . . .  
  
"Farfarello?"  
  
"Aye. Should have known that ye would be the one to see the truth of it."  
  
Farfarello's gaze shifted, took on a more Schuldig look. "Crawford?"  
  
"Schuldig. Do you know what just happened?"  
  
Schuldig closed his eyes. "I felt . . . I felt this before. Crawford, what just happened?"  
  
"How long has this been going on, Schuldig?"  
  
"Since . . ." Schuldig opened his eyes as comprehension dawned. "Since I went back to our old place. Weeks now." He turned his face away. "I've had nightmares. Nightmares about . . ." he stopped, not sure if he wanted to reveal all of his weakness to Crawford.  
  
"They were about Farfarello, weren't they?"  
  
Schuldig was surprised into laughter. "Hey, who's the telepath here?"  
  
"That might be the problem," Crawford told him gravely. "No one knows the extent of our powers, not even us." His voice gentled. "I just talked to Farfarello, Schuldig. Through you."  
  
"Through me? What? Like a medium or something?"  
  
"I don't know just yet, Schuldig. This I think is too subtle for my gift to discern. Maybe it's like multiple personality syndrome, due to stress and guilt over Farfarello's death. Maybe it's something else." Now Crawford was the one to look away.  
  
"You know something, Crawford," Schuldig said. The silence told him the truth. Schuldig grew angry. "Damn it, Brad! Don't you think I have the right to know? It's my mind he's sitting in."  
  
"You see that?" Crawford asked, surprised. "I thought you didn't know."  
  
Schuldig chewed on his bottom lip. "That just came out. I guess I know it instinctively. He doesn't feel like a part of me, Crawford. I've seen into the minds of MPS people. All the personalities are linked together. This one doesn't carry that link. He just sits in there. In my head." Schuldig looked at Crawford with solemn, scared eyes.  
  
Crawford sometimes forgot just how young Schuldig was. Seeing him like this reminded him of that forcefully. "It'll be okay, Schuldig." _I'll make it so, somehow.  
_  
He decided there was no harm in divulging privileged information. There was no more need to keep Esset's secrets, especially not from Schuldig. He felt a weight he hadn't even know he had carried lift. Maybe he should have done this earlier. Why hadn't he? Schuldig wouldn't betray him. They were Schwarz. Digging into those formerly confidential mental files, he recalled what he'd read in Farfarello's Esset records.  
  
"Schuldig, there were tests that they had run on Farfarello. They never were able to determine the extent of his abilities. However, they did know this: he wasn't just a freak that couldn't feel pain. There was something else. Something they never were able to define. I think . . ." he paused as a vision came to him. "No. I _know _this is somehow related to that."  
  
One of Schuldig's eyes slid closed as Farfarello came once more to the fore. "Do ye claim to care now, Crawford? Miss yer curs yet, Lucifer?"  
  
Crawford took it all in stride. Understanding that all was not known about the extent of their powers, together and separately, he could only marvel at this new facet that had been revealed. He had known that Schwarz was capable of some incredible things, but this . . . "I suspect that if you had survived as you were supposed to, this encounter would have been inevitable."  
  
Farfarello was silent, staring at Crawford with that blank stare that looked so strange on Schuldig's face. "Come on then," Crawford said to Farfarello. "Your grievance is with me. Don't you think that it would be better to thrash it out one on one rather than drag Schuldig into it?"  
  
Schuldig's eye opened, and he shook his head slightly, like a man that had taken a hit to the head. "Crawford. I heard you this time. Things are changing, and I don't think for the better." He squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't think it's a good idea to goad him, Crawford. I think that it's you he really wants. Something about you—" he stopped mid-sentence.  
  
Schuldig went limp, and he made a couple of low throaty sounds that Crawford was sure he wasn't even aware of, then he returned, looking more dazed than before. "_Scheisse,_ he's getting stronger." He looked worried. "I thought I had him locked away."  
  
"Give him to me, Schuldig." Crawford raised a hand to forestall Schuldig's argument. "I have better shields than you, you've told me yourself. Besides, you have Nagi to worry about now."  
  
Schuldig looked defiant yet uneasy. "Farf wouldn't hurt Nagi."  
  
"No, but if Farfarello gets control of you, that would involve Nagi. It would be better if you just gave Farfarello to me. I'm better able to deal with him, even in the eventuality that he did escape." Crawford's expression darkened. "Besides, I think that Farfarello and I still have some unfinished business."  
  
"I don't like it," Schuldig said.  
  
"You don't have to. Just do it." Crawford unbuckled Schuldig, then rose. Schuldig shrugged out of the restraints and followed suit. The two men faced each other.  
  
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Schuldig smirked, but his hands were uncharacteristically hesitant. He settled them on Crawford's shoulders and flexed them nervously, then leaned in. Crawford shut his eyes, expecting to feel the touch of Schuldig's forehead against his.  
  
An Irish-accented whisper made his eyes snap open. "Ye've always hungered for a taste, haven't ye, Crawford me boy? Well, let me give it to ye."  
  
Crawford tried to recoil, but Schuldig's hands, now under Farfarello's control, were painfully tight and as unyielding as steel. Before the blue eyes before him shut, he saw Schuldig wrestle away control once more. The hands on his shoulders gentled and flexed in an almost caressing motion, then their lips met.  
  
Crawford tasted a spicy, sweet flavor that had to be Schuldig. Then the flavor changed to the salty tang of blood and an overwhelming, bitterly smoky, metallic taste. The taste of insanity, Crawford thought. Through the contact, he felt something pass over, like a shadow cast by a cloud passing over the sun.  
  
Just as that happened, Schuldig sagged, collapsing against Crawford. Crawford caught the unconcious telepath and gently lowered him to the floor. A long strand of fiery hair covered his face. Crawford hesitated, then lightly smoothed the strand back. He watched the sleeping telepath for a moment, unaware of the small, almost tender smile that played briefly on his face.  
  
When Crawford emerged from the room, Nagi saw the leader he remembered so well, the cool, collected American. The pre-cog handed him a piece of paper. "When Schuldig wakes—" Crawford paused, then shook his head and said instead, "Here's where I'll be staying, if you need to reach me." He looked at the telekinetic and a strange softness came into his eyes. "Take care of him, Nagi."  
  
Nagi nodded silently. Underneath the couch, the kitten watched Crawford go. When the door closed after him, the kitten slinked out from under the couch and wound slowly around Nagi's feet. Nagi picked him up. "Crawford wouldn't have said that a few months ago. I wonder what changed him." Jei merely purred, then began grooming his paws contentedly.  
  
---- 

A/N:   
FungiFugusRayne—the link was requested by TCM, but I'm glad if anyone else found it useful.   
TrenchcoatMan—I'll try. I don't know where my writing will lead me, though. This arc is pretty Crawford and Schu-centric. Omi and Nagi will be showing up later, I can promise that.   
LoneCayt—I'm with you, believe it or not, when it comes to Crawford=villain. I don't see him as inherently cruel. Just as rational and dedicated to his goals, despite the cost.   
Hisoka—Sorry I didn't update sooner! As always, thanks for your reviews.   
Yanagi-sen—I liked that Crawford and Omi scene as well.   
The First Light—O.O Wow. Thank you, thank you for your reviews. I'm gratified that you took the time. I hope that you will continue to enjoy, despite the hints of yaoi. I almost did make this a yaoi-free fic, but my yaoi fangirl would not be silenced. I'll probably do another arc later that is yaoi-free, because I don't think that yaoi has to run rampant through Weiss Kreuz, and I want to prove it to that yaoi fangirl in my head. There's plenty of non-yaoi stories out there, like Tex-chan's "Snow Day," for example.   
Thank you all. Now that I have some more time, I'll be updating a bit more frequently. Barring anything untowards, of course. Where's a pre-cog when you need one?


	20. Chapter 19: The Unholy Trinity

**Chapter 19: The Unholy Trinity**

* * *

I must be cruel only to be kind;  
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.  
**-William Shakespeare**

Crawford closed the door behind him and locked it. Everything still looked the same. The furniture was just as Schwarz had left it. A bottle of Ramune, any liquid that had been in it long since dissipated, sat on the table. Nagi and Farfarello had loved the drink. Why, he couldn't guess. A magazine, one of Nagi's, gathered dust next to the bottle. The remote was in the same place. "Why is all of this still here?" 

_Because Schuldig kept the church open for me. He was unaware of his actions at the time, but it was not yet the time of his becoming. Our becoming._ Farfarello's voice sounded distant, echoing slightly. Crawford closed his eyes to concentrate on the voice.

"Kept the church open for you?"

_Aye. The house of Schwarz, the only religion that one recognizes. And yer head, the cathedral he most desired to worship in. Within that cathedral was his god. But ye never let him in, did ye, Crawford? His god shut him out, forced him to go to other churches to pray._

Trust Farfarello to think in religious metaphors. "So if I'm Schuldig's God, then what does that make you?"

_I'm the pneu'ma, Crawford.(1) The Holy Spirit._

"Ridiculous," Crawford retorted.

_Is it? Schuldig wanted to worship at yer altar, but ye locked the doors, barring him. No matter how they long for beautiful cathedrals, the pious must find a place to pray. So he came t' my humble church, ruined though it was. He might've eventually become my disciple, but we all know that's not the path he was meant for._

"Your path. Insanity."

Farfarello ignored him. _Ye were his god, and ye shaped him and set him t' do yer will, carry out yer tenets to subjugate the world. Does that not make him God's son? All ye needed was the Holy Ghost to complete the Trinity. The pneu'ma, Crawford._

Crawford's smile was thin and his eyes were hard. "And now we have an un-Holy Trinity, is that what you're saying?"

_Father, Son and the Holy Ghost,_ the voice came back gravely.

"Then why Schuldig? Why didn't you come to me, if I was the cathedral, the house of the Lord in this Trinity?"

_What makes up a man, Crawford?_

"His memories," Crawford said. "You needed your memories from Schuldig. How did you figure this out, Farfarello?"

_Figure? There was no plan involved, Crawford. Just something that ye know nothin' about: faith. I believed I would live past death because it would cheat the Great Destroyer above. Schuldig raised me from the dead, as Jesus the savior raised up Lazarus. We are unnatural creatures, Crawford. We've not just gone against His order, we've turned it upside down. We are no longer His creatures._

"We never were, Farfarello."

_Aye, we were. Now we're free from His yoke. We shall destroy Him and raise the new house of worship on the ruins of the old._

"Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."

_Aye. Ye don't believe me yet, but belief shall come. Now that everythin's understood, there leaves but one thing now, _Farfarello told Crawford. _Confess to me, and let me wash ye of all your sins._

"What? Murder, lying, betrayal? You already know those. You know I don't feel guilt for them and will do them again if necessary."

_Oh, aye, that ye would. And those are grievous sins in the eye of God. But I speak of the sin to me, Crawford. Address how ye've wronged me._ Crawford thought that, though Farfarello was insane, when he spoke he made sense in his own terrible way. _Come now, _the Irishman continued, sounding like a reasonable father confessor, compassionate and kind. What made that all the more obscene was that Farfarello was not mocking. He really did feel the compassion, the kindness. And he could be moved to put you out of your misery.

_It's just ye, I, and the dreadful one above. Ye've never cared what He thought, despite yer lip service to me. Ye're the new God. Ye have no worries about Him anymore. Cast aside the old sins and move freely into yer new role. So admit it to me and to yerself._

Crawford took a deep breath. He didn't like this, but Farfarello was not to be denied. And maybe, just maybe, his own guilt refused to be denied anymore, either. "Hubris. I'm guilty of the sin of hubris."

Farfarello made an encouraging sound, like a teacher gently prodding a beloved pupil.

"I failed you, I failed Schwarz. I let my confidence in my ability lead to failure." The words that had been like razors for him made nice, clean, painless cuts, releasing the bad blood that boiled inside. Now he got an inkling why Farfarello cut himself.

_Aye, aye_, the Irishman said absently, soothingly.

"I failed, when I let Weiß take back the girl. When I didn't see the way that Weiß changed the future. Not until it was too late."

_God works in mysterious ways,_ Farfarello murmured.

"Yes," Crawford replied. "But failure doesn't need to be absolute, Farfarello. You now know that my main goal never was to destroy your God. But our goals were irrevocably intertwined. For me to succeed, I have to follow your goal."

_Oh, that ye do. But there remains one more sin that ye be needin' to confess. Ye needn't confess it to those ye've betrayed. That would be God's way. But confess it here, in the desecrated cathedral that is yer soul, this new house of the Lord._ Farf sounded solemn_. I will be yer father confessor for this last one._

"One more sin?"

_Aye. A sin to the rest of Schwarz, to yerself. Confess, Crawford, confess!_

"I-I don't know what you're talking about."

_Don't lie. That goes against this church and lays another sin upon yer back. Yer doors have remained shut for a long, long time, Crawford. Now's the time to open 'em. Confess how ye feel._

"How I feel? How I feel? I feel—alone. I . . . I miss them. I miss Nagi, I miss Schuldig. I even miss you."

Farfarello's silence was appraising but not unkind. Finally he spoke. _I believe you, Crawford. And ye'll never have to be alone again. I'll always be near. But it isn't Nagi and me that ye miss most, is it?_

"No. No, it's not." Part of Crawford was appalled that he had just admitted something that he had denied for years. The release was too great, though, for him to regret it.

_Who is it, then? Tell,_ Farfarello coaxed.

Here Crawford balked. He didn't want to put it into words, make it more real than it already was. "Do I have to say it? If it isn't Nagi and it isn't you—"

_That is the purpose of confession, to get it out in the open._

"I miss Schuldig the most. He's the one I think of when I feel most alone, the one that I most wish was back with me." Crawford couldn't stop the rest. Hidden feelings poured out of him. "He's the one that I think of the most. Everything reminds me of Schuldig. Everything! Redheads, wine, cars, music, laughter and smirks, green coats, blue eyes, Germans, Europeans, men, even women. What I eat and drink I analyze by whether or not he'd like it; everything I see, I wish I could share with him." He clenched his fists. "And I hate you for sending him away," he said through gritted teeth.

_You must burn with the fire to bring forth from the ashes,_ Farfarello told him solemnly. _The house of Schwarz needed cleansing. The prodigals needed to wander the wilderness. Ye needed to learn to open the door to what was inside, to let others in. This was the best way. And one day, the prodigals shall return, both of them. Nagi has a bit further to go in the wilderness, but he too shall return to his cathedral. _

_The guilty one's time to return draws near. His trials and travails are over, as are yers._ Farfarello turned supplicating. _If ye hadn't been without him, would ye have ever realized what he truly meant to ye? Would ye have ever opened yer doors to let him in?_

Crawford wanted to deny what Farf was saying. He was the Oracle, though. He knew what his future had held before and what it held now. "No. I wouldn't have."

_Forgive me, and ye too shall be forgiven,_ Farfarello told him.

Crawford didn't know what to say without sounding banal, so he dipped his head and settled for an affirmative nod.

_All is forgiven._

When he opened his eyes, Farfarello was gone.

----

A/N:

**(1)Pneu'ma:** 1. the third person of the triune God, the Holy Spirit, coequal, coeternal with the Father and the Son. 2. a spirit, i.e. a simple essence, devoid of all or at least all grosser matter, and possessed of the power of knowing, desiring, deciding, and acting; a life giving spirit. 3. a human soul that has left the body. 4. a spirit higher than man but lower than God, i.e. an angel. 5. used of demons, or evil spirits, who were conceived as inhabiting the bodies of men. From: http:www. searchgodsword. org/lex/grk/view. cgi?number=4151 (you'll have to take out the spaces to make the link work-.-;;)

Thanks to:  
FungiFungusRayne – I don't think that Farf would make you totally nuts, but I do think that he would influence you somewhat, especially in weaker moments.  
The First Light – Thanks for telling me that you're enjoying what I wrote. As for your reviews, I've enjoyed them, and I don't think that at all, honestly.  
Yanagi-sen – Thanks for your review. You'll see more of Jei here and there.  
TrenchcoatMan – I'm with you on het couples that aren't canon. That edges dangerously into Mary Sue territory, a place I try to avoid, if at all possible. More OxN on the way.  
Suicide.angel01 – Yay, new reviewer! Welcome aboard. Farf's not taking over to hurt Schu deliberately. He just does what comes natural to him and Schu is an innocent bystander. O.O I can't believe I put 'innocent' and 'Schu' in the same sentence.  
LoneCayt – Farf in Manx's body. . . o.O Oh my. Mission deliveries sure would be different for Weiß!  
Kye Syr – Thank you, thank you for your kind review. It really made my day when I read your review. Glad to see you aboard, and better a late review than no review, so don't worry about not reviewing earlier. I'm just happy you reviewed. I'm also glad that you agreed with my view of the guys. It makes me feel better about the track I'm running on with this arc.  
Nony - Aya: SUFFER! SUFFER! RAHR! Schu: Oh, all right. suffers Heh. Always glad to see you about. Seems like someone's been thinkin' about Nagi a bit lately, hmm? Hee hee. You'll be a OxN shipper before you know it.

Sorry everyone for the lateness of this chapter. But yesterday was my sister's birthday, (happy birthday, brat!) and I've been busy working towards that. Among other things. Damn, I really DO need a pre-cog around. . . I wonder how much Crawford charges. More than I can afford, probably.


	21. Chapter 20: Friendly Overtures, Coda

**Chapter 20: Friendly Overtures – Coda

* * *

**

Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view  
That stand upon the threshold of the new.  
**-Edmund Waller, _On the Divine Poems  
_**----

Schuldig became aware of a small wet nose and stiff whiskers tickling his face. He opened his eyes and tried to focus on the kitten's face, which was nose to nose with him. When the kitten saw him open his eyes, it began to purr. A second face, this one human came into view. "Schuldig?"

Schuldig lifted a hand and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah."

A small smile of relief ghosted across Nagi's face, like a cloud in a time-lapse film. It appeared, then blew away like it never was. "Good to see you back, Schuldig."

Schuldig smirked. "Was I ever gone?" He sat up, dislodging Jei. Jei gave an indignant squeak. Rubbing Jei behind the ears in apology, which the kitten was more than happy to accept, he got to his feet. He grinned at Nagi. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

Nagi returned the smile, but his smile wavered at the edges. "I should remember that."

"You bet." Schuldig ruffled Nagi's hair, then laughed. "Who would have ever thought that Crawford would save the day?"

Nagi smiled at that. This time the smile stayed steady. "He did, though. He's changed, Schu."

Schuldig looked startled, and Nagi's smile turned smug. It wasn't often that the TK observed a change in someone before Schuldig. "Changed? What do you mean?"

"He's different. More ... I don't know. More ... open."

"Hmm." Schuldig turned thoughtful. "Well, we've all changed, really."

"Schu?"

"Hmm?"

"Why don't you go back?"

"I made a promise to Farf, Nagi. He was one of us. I wouldn't have given a damn about anyone else."

"I know," Nagi said unhappily. "But it doesn't feel right."

"I agree," Schuldig confessed. "But it doesn't change anything."

"What did he say exactly, Schuldig?" Nagi asked.

"He said it was time to cut the leash. To quit being Crawford's dogs and be our own curs. To quit allowing Crawford to use us."

"What if we just didn't let Crawford use us? We don't have to be away from him to not let him use us."

"Cut the leash, be our own curs." Schuldig smiled triumphantly. "And stay in our own pack." His smile dimmed. "But he also told me to get out on my own and take you with me."

"And you did, Schuldig. You did." Nagi picked up Jei and hugged the kitten to his chest. "That's how we were able to break free. Don't you see?"

"Break free... including Farf," Schuldig mused to himself.

"What?" Nagi looked confused. Jei blinked impassively at Schuldig from Nagi's arms.

"If we had been still under Crawford, he probably would've sent me back to Rosenkreuz the moment I started showing signs of aberrant behavior. They would have stripped Farfarello out, and I don't know what would have happened to him then. I think that he needed time to, to—become."

Nagi stared at Schuldig. "I don't understand."

"It was Farf, Nagi. It was Farfarello all this time, giving me nightmares, affecting my mind."

"Farf? Do you mean. . . he's still. . . _alive_?"

"Yes." Schuldig tilted his head to consider further, then qualified, "in a way."

"How?"

Schuldig ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I'm not sure how it all happened or even what happened. I just know that, for a while, I had him in my head. Now he's in Crawford's. And I think that was where he intended to end up all along. I just sheltered him until he was ready. Until we all were ready."

"Ready for what?" Nagi said, puzzled.

Schuldig snorted in amusement. "I don't know. That was just something that was left over from Farf's occupancy. They kinda echo around in my head, some of the things that he thought." He stretched, then ended the stretch with a careless rise and fall of his shoulders. "It's over now, though. He's where he wants to be, and Crawford is probably the only person that can handle having Farf rattle around in his skull." An admiring glint came into Schuldig's eyes. "That control of his is amazing."

Except, Schuldig thought to himself, for that one moment when their lips touched, before Farfarello had caused him to black out. In that one brief moment, Crawford had been completely laid bare to him. He'd only had time to gather a quick glimpse of surprise and something else, something darker, smokier, before he had gone under. Schuldig would have given anything to know what that was. He knew what he hoped it was, but he just wasn't sure.

"So this all had a purpose," Nagi said. "Farfarello was directing the whole thing."

"Not really," Schuldig countered. "He did it more out of instinct, I think."

"Farfarello's instincts always were uncanny," Nagi agreed. "That's why he had you make that promise. Still, I believe it's time for you to return to Crawford."

"To Schwarz," Schuldig said flatly.

"No, we ARE Schwarz. No matter where we are or what we are doing," Nagi said solemnly. "Esset may have put us together, but we named ourselves. We made ourselves." Nagi turned to stare out the window. "I still have to make myself, I think."

He turned back to Schuldig. "But you. You need to go back. You kept your promise. But you never promised Farfarello that you'd stay away. We cut the leash, Schuldig. But we are still Schwarz."

"A pack of wolves," Schuldig said with a grin that was rather wolfish.

"We're not dogs anymore," Nagi said fiercely. "Esset's, Crawford's, or anyone else's. We're free to make our own choices. And I know the choice you'd make, if you believed you were free to make it."

Schuldig stared at his lap. "I don't know, Nagi," he sighed. "I've been someone's dog for so long I'd let Crawford put his leash on me without a second's hesitation."

"I don't think that Crawford would, Schuldig." Nagi released Jei to rummage in his pocket. "He's not as cold as he used to be. Not as arrogant, as domineering." He withdrew a slip of paper. "He gave me this and told me to take care of you. The Crawford we used to know would never have said anything like that. He's _changed_, Schuldig." He offered Schuldig the paper. "I think that you should go to him and see just how much."

Schuldig stared at the paper but didn't take it. "I don't know, Nagi."

Nagi frowned in exasperation. "Yes, you do. Now stop stalling."

"Things have changed for me too, Nagi."

"Are you referring to that kiss you two shared?"

Schuldig gaped at Nagi, shocked. "N-Nagi!"

"I saw it," Nagi stated calmly. "And I think that's another reason for you to go to him. You may have initiated that kiss, but Crawford didn't seem to mind. Very much the opposite, as a matter of fact. Besides, he came here for _you_. I'm certain of that. I don't know what he saw, but he was here because of you."

You always told me," Nagi said quietly, "that you never wanted to live your life with regrets. That was the reason you never would feel guilty for anything you had done." Nagi shoved the paper at Schuldig. "So don't change that philosophy now, when it might do you the most good."

Schuldig took the piece of paper and rubbed it lightly with his thumb. He grinned suddenly. "That philosophy has done me well so far, so why quit now?"

"Well if that's settled, there's one last thing," Nagi said. He nervously wet his lips. "I'm not going with you."

Schuldig blinked at him. "Why not?"

"I've decided to join Kritiker." Nagi braced for the explosion.

Schuldig sat back. "Kritiker?" He was puzzled. "But that would put you at odds with us, Nagi."

"No, it won't," Nagi vowed. "I want to help Omi. And I can—I _will_, without crossing Schwarz. I always have the choice, and that is something I won't budge on. If Persia can't take the terms, then the deal's off."

"I see." Schuldig studied Nagi. "You know, this might end badly for you. You might not have the choice you think."

"Maybe not," Nagi agreed. "But I want to try." He licked his lips again. "Omi told me that friendship is about _wanting_ to help. I think I want to."

Schuldig was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Obviously you do." He pulled a startled Nagi into a bear hug. "You thought I was going to get mad, didn't you, brat?" He released Nagi and ruffled the boy's hair again. "If that's what you want to do, go for it. No regrets, remember?"

Nagi smiled slightly. "No regrets." He rose. "I'm going to meet Omi in half an hour. I suggest you go do what you want to do, too." Nagi raised a meaningful brow at him, then turned to leave.

"Nagi."

Nagi turned inquiringly.

"Good luck with Kritiker. And with your friendship with Omi."

Nagi smiled slightly and gave Schuldig a tiny nod. Then he left to meet with Omi.

Schuldig shook his head after he watched Nagi depart. Damned if the kid wasn't right. There was no reason that he couldn't go home. He felt a light brush against his trouser leg. He looked down into Jei's bright gold eyes. For once, the kitten's gaze didn't make him think of Farf. It looked up at him imploringly, as only a young cat can, with that cross of cuteness and a touch of dignity.

He picked up the kitten, and smiled delightedly when it began to purr. "Well, Jei, looks like I'm going." The kitten blinked at him, then lifted his head for a scratch. Schuldig obliged him, his smile widening. "How about you help me pack, eh, _katzchen_?"

The kitten squirmed out of his grasp, then sauntered over to a very familiar set of luggage sitting next to the couch. Schuldig laughed in disbelief. "That kid is something else, isn't he, Jei? You can tell that he picked up a few lessons from Crawford." He bent and scratched the kitten along the jaw. "You take care of Nagi, okay? I've got a pre-cog to catch."

**----**

Omi smiled as he looked up. "Hello, Nagi."

"Persia." At Nagi's greeting, Omi's smile changed, turned more professional.

"You have an answer for me, then."

"Yes. I'll help you, Persia. I'll help Kritiker, but only as long as it doesn't cross paths with Schwarz."

"With Schwarz?" Omi paused to mull it over. "All right, I'll agree to that. And what about Schuldig?"

Nagi smiled slightly. "Schuldig's fine now. Crawford was able to set things straight. I sent Schuldig home." Nagi's smile widened. "He wished me luck with the new job and the new friendship. Have you ordered yet?"

----

A/N: Well, one last chapter and the epilogue to go. All my gratitude to:

FungiFungusRayne: Thank you, and my sister thanks you too. I'm delighted you found that informative. I think I would have liked being a teacher:)

The First Light: Thanks for your kind review. Now it's your turn to teach me. (I like being a student, too!) Who's Tsukasa? If he's like Crawford, I think I might like him.

Hisoka: Great to see you back aboard! As always, thank you, thank you. I guess I'm going to have to do a completely OmixNagi story at a later date. They sure have a lot of fans!

TrenchcoatMan: When I started this arc, I felt kinda bad I didn't know much about the drama CDs. Now, the more I hear about it, the more I wonder if that is such a bad thing after all. Especially the "Sally" part.

LoneCayt: I liked Farf as the 'voice of reason' too. It seemed twisted, yet right. I felt that maybe I did make Crawford give in a little easy, but I also see it as something that he was tired of fighting. Farf just gave him a convenient excuse. I'm sorry to say, Aya doesn't show up again in this story. I have been turning over a few Aya(Ran)-centric fic ideas, though. I felt that I barely scratched the surface with him. He's such a wonderfully complex character.

Lyra Stormrider: Thank you so very much for your review. I'm pleased that you liked the religious theme. That was one of my favorite chapters, actually. I hope you will find this arc enjoyable to the end.

Sweet666: Thanks and welcome aboard, always wonderful to hear from new reviewers. New update, as requested.


	22. Chapter 21: The Prodigal Son Returns

**Chapter 21: The Prodigal Son Returns

* * *

**

Life's a voyage that's homeward bound.  
**Herman Melville**** (1819 - 1891)**

Schuldig compared Nagi's note with the address on the building. 4-2-3. This was it. He opened the car door and got out. A familiar black BMW was parked beside his car. Sometimes you had to leave to know where home was, Schuldig thought, as he walked up the steps.

He didn't bother knocking. Crawford would know he was coming. He gripped the doorknob. It turned, opening the door. An unlocked door was as good as an invitation from a pre-cog. "_Tadaima_," he called. A squeak of a chair moving across linoleum told him where to find Crawford.

Crawford was sitting in the kitchen, the morning paper in hand. A cup of coffee sent tendrils of stream into the air. It looked so domestic. Schuldig smirked at that. Appearances really could be deceiving. Especially around Crawford. Schuldig sat in the only other chair, which had been set back to the table, ready for Schuldig to sit astride it, as he usually did with these kind of chairs. Another invitation. "You know how to make a man feel welcome, Crawford," he said as he sat down.

Crawford looked at him briefly and gave him that all-purpose, noncommittal-yet-knowing smile of his that told Schuldig nothing. It was Crawford's default face. Schuldig made an exasperated sound and drummed his fingers on the table. "What? No lecture?"

Crawford turned back to his paper and began folding it up. That was his answer. He didn't waste words if they weren't needed. They rarely were between Schwarz.

Schuldig's fingers drummed again, then stopped. "How 'bout a cup of coffee, then?"

"Sorry. Last one." Crawford stood to drop his paper in the trash. He contemplated his cup for a moment, then picked it up and came around the table. He put the half-full cup in front of Schuldig. Before he could withdraw his arm and move away, Schuldig reached up and wrapped his arm around Crawford's. He leaned his head against the sleeve and drew in the well-known scent.

Picking up the cup with his free hand, Schuldig peered up at Crawford. His eyes sparkled with the mischief that Crawford remembered so well. "You know, drinking after someone is an indirect kiss." Never taking his eyes off of Crawford's, he brought the cup up to his lips. He lightly licked the rim like a cat, then closed his eyes and drank deeply.

Crawford watched, entranced. Schuldig took the simple act and turned it into something beautiful and sensual. He was especially drawn to the way the strong line of Schuldig's throat worked as he swallowed.

Crawford took the cup away and set it back on the table, then tilted Schuldig's face up for a kiss. He tasted his coffee, a taste so familiar yet now tinted with the unfamiliar flavor of Schuldig's mouth. He savored the intermingling of familiar and unfamiliar, committing them to memory. When he drew away, Schuldig sighed and leaned his head against Crawford's still restrained arm. Crawford lightly twined a lock of fiery hair around his finger.

"Welcome home, Schuldig." 

* * *

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to put this up—I've been working on the next installment and forgot that I hadn't finished this one. Oops. Well, here we are. Last of Opening Doors. All that's left is the epilogue. But the fat lady isn't singing yet, folks. There's still an good bit left in this opera. Thanks as always (and from the bottom of my heart): 

Lonecayt: Yay, indeed! BradxSchu makes me so happy. And no way would they abandon Nagi. They'll be around.

TrenchcoatMan: Found out a little bit more about the Sally angle, and I agree with you. They could have come up with something better.

Yanagi-sen: Short chapters seems to be one of my flaws. Glad you thought it was cute, though.

FungiFungusRayne: It's Crawford we're talking about, so I'd say a bear trap. With a handful of tranquilizer darts.

Hisoka: OxN will probably have a few chapters in the upcoming fic, but they're still side characters. After this, I'll try my hand at a pure OxN fic. The idea makes me a bit nervous, though. I don't feel like I have all that good a grasp on their personalities.

Sweet666: I hope that you view this as a happy ending for Schu and Brad. I'm a sap. I want a happy ending for them, too.

The First Light: I'll have to check out .hackSIGN. I've heard of it, but was leery about picking up a new anime. I already got sooo muuuch on my plate, with Inu Yasha and One Piece (will they ever END?!), Fruits Basket, Wolf's Rain, and others. You've got me intrigued, though. . .

Nony: Sorry about leaving off the 'Hamlet' attribution. I had it in my rough draft, but it somehow got lost in one of the revisions. No pro, but might have an epi. Get off after the next station to board the new train. I hope you like it.


	23. Epilogue

**Epilogue

* * *

**

Nagi stood on the familiar front porch and raised a brow at the shiny new deadbolt. He clicked the lock open with his talent and entered his old house. Inside, he found no trace of the previous occupants there. What had drawn Crawford and Schuldig to return here? Why had they bothered to come back? White walls greeted him everywhere he looked. The kitchen that Farfarello used to watch Jei in had new wallpaper. There was nothing familiar here.

He peeked into their old rooms. If he hadn't remembered which room was which, there would have been no way for him to tell. The chaos that had dominated Schuldig's room was gone; the neatness of Crawford's had gone even further, stripped to the bare walls. Farfarello's room had undergone the most drastic change. It now looked like an ordinary bedroom, where before it had reflected its extraordinary occupant.

The whole house no longer held the slightest hint that they had been there. Schwarz had moved on. Nagi left, taking the last trace of Schwarz out with him.

_Owari

* * *

_A/N:  
This story is now done. Unfortunately (for me), my Schwarz muses are hard taskmasters. They already have me hard at work on the next one in this arc. I'm tentatively calling that fic "Cathedrals of the Mind." After that one I will be DONE with this. Not done with Weiß Kreuz, just this arc. I have a few story ideas, including an unassociated fic featuring Schuldig and Aya (Ran's sister, not Ran), and a couple of Saiyuki and Inu Yasha fics that are clamouring to get out. CotM will span the time from the end of this one to the beginning of Glühen. Wish me luck, and pray that Schwarz (and assorted other muses) doesn't kill me with overwork. See you (hopefully) in Cathedrals! 

Leokitsune  
7:27 p.m. EST  
September 2, 2004


End file.
